


Ante Ruinam

by BouquetOfScoroses



Series: Ante Ruinam [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Secret Relationship, Sexism, Summary credit to Taylor Swift, single parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-01-29 01:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 52,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BouquetOfScoroses/pseuds/BouquetOfScoroses
Summary: I can't make it go away by making you a villain.--The story of how Imelda Rivera became Imelda Rivera.
Relationships: Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera
Series: Ante Ruinam [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581289
Comments: 25
Kudos: 54





	1. 1917 - Part I

**Author's Note:**

> My first multi-chapter fic that's not Harry Potter...I never thought I'd see the day.
> 
> I love Coco so much, and I've had this fic brewing in my head for two years now. I've always wondered if Imelda was always the tough woman we see in the movie, and I wanted to explore that. So enjoy my take on Imelda Rivera and how she came to be.

1917

It was the day before Imelda’s eighteenth birthday, but she felt like she was eight years old again, begging her father for a favor.

“It’s only dinner,” Imelda said, wringing her hands as she asked her father. “Can he come?”

  
Imelda sat in the sitting room with her parents, her stitching abandoned in her lap. Her mother worked at hers, frowning slightly.

  
“What was his name again?”

  
“Héctor. Héctor Rivera,” Imelda said, knowing her father was really asking his family name.

  
“I don’t know any Riveras in town,” her father said.

  
“He’s from the orphanage,” her mother said, shooting a look at Mr. Diaz. “Down by the river.”

  
“Ah,” Antonio Diaz said.

“His parents died in the war,” Imelda said, before her father could fall into the trap of believing the orphans were children that were not wanted. “When he was ten.”

  
“Is he the boy that Señora Mendez said you have been running around with in the plaza?” her father asked.

  
Imelda nodded. “I like to watch him play. He’s a musician.”

  
Her mother scoffed, then looked at her husband. “He’s a street rat that Imelda’s gotten attached to. She just wants the boy to have a hot meal, right, Imelda?”

  
“That’s not why-”

“Imelda,” Her mother said, her voice sharp.

  
Imelda bit her tongue and nodded her head. She picked up her stitching.

  
“I don’t see why the boy can’t come to dinner,” her father said. “As long as that’s all it is.”

  
Imelda jumped up and hugged her father. “Thank you, Papa. May I be excused?”

  
He nodded, and Imelda turned to walk to her room before her mother stopped her.

  
“Don’t forget, Señor Herrera will be coming by for tea later,” her mother said, fixing her daughter with a steely look. “Do not be late.”

  
Imelda swallowed, then nodded. “Yes, Mama. I won’t forget.”

How could she forget a meeting with her fiance?

* * *

She waited until she was out of sight of the house before breaking into a run until she got to the fork in the road. She took the dirt path to the right and ran up to the steps of the orphanage. She knocked three times until a kind-faced old woman answered.

  
“Imelda, how lovely to see you,” Señora Rodriguez said. “Héctor told me you might be dropping by. I’m sorry you just missed him; he decided to head into town for a bit.”

  
Imelda was trying to catch her breath. She closed her eyes. “Of course he did. Did he say where he was going?”

  
Señora Rodriguez shook her head. “He said he would be back in a couple of hours.”

  
“Thank you,” Imelda said. “I’ll find him.”

  
She turned and headed back down the path, walking instead of running. There was no point to running if he was headed into town; she would run into him eventually.

  
The streets of Santa Cecilia were crowded; everyone was going to the shop, preparing for the upcoming Christmas holidays. Imelda sighed in frustration. It would be impossible for her to find Héctor in this crowd.

  
Someone grabbed her elbow and stopped her. Imelda stumbled, almost falling in the crowded street. “Where are you running off to, Imelda?”

  
Imelda turned. Sofia Hernandez stood beside her, smile wide. “You almost knocked me over, Sofia.”

  
Sofia Hernandez had been one of Imelda’s few friends for as long as Imelda could remember. Her mother said the Hernandez family was nothing special; they were not rich and they were not poor. Imelda’s mother had even less patience for Sofia, though. Sofia had tendencies to do things that most girls her age would not do: run barefoot through the woods, swim in the river in her skirts, wear colors and patterns that other people would balk at. Sofia liked attention, good or bad, and she made sure she got it everywhere she went.

  
“Sorry,” Sofia said, looping her arm through Imelda’s. “I saw you by yourself and thought you might need some company. People might talk about a girl exploring the plaza all by herself.”

  
Imelda rolled her eyes. People would talk about anything out of the ordinary--and it felt like Imelda was always out of the ordinary. “Have you seen Héctor?”

  
Sofia’s smile widened. Imelda thought it might break Sofia’s face if it got any wider. “Oh, so that’s it? You’re looking for your lover boy.”

  
“Don’t call him that,” Imelda said. “Someone might hear you.”

  
“And who’s going to listen to ditzy Sofia Hernandez?” she said. “Besides, no one except your mother cares if you are in love with the orphan _musico_, Imelda.”

  
Imelda had to disagree with her on that point. It seemed like everyone cared if Imelda was in love with Hector. It also seemed like it shouldn’t be any of their business.

  
“I saw him heading toward the center of the plaza with his guitar,” Sofia said. “Do you want to go over there?”

  
Imelda nodded, and then smiled. Sofia’s ever-present happiness was contagious.

  
They walked together towards the center of the plaza, following the growing sound of music and _gritos_ piercing the air. One voice stood out above the rest - singing the song he had written for her.

  
She and Sofia pushed through the crowd until they were at the front. Héctor and Ernesto were in their usual square of the plaza, playing their guitars and singing Hector’s songs. The two made such beautiful music together that it was easy to overlook how different the two were. Ernesto, twenty-one years old, was the epitome of a handsome musician. He had broad shoulders, his dark hair was perfectly styled, and his guitar and suit were immaculate. Héctor, seventeen, was gangly, all arms and legs. His dark hair was messy, and his guitar was a beat-up secondhand one that he had found in a junk pile and fixed up. He had an overall unkempt look that Ernesto didn’t have.

  
Imelda remembered when the difference wasn’t so extreme. Ernesto grew up in the same orphanage, but he was one of the ones that everyone thought of when they heard of the orphanage: an unwanted child. His parents hadn’t been married, or his mother was a prostitute, or there was some other unsavory backstory that had led to Ernesto being dropped on the orphanage’s doorstep. He had been there all his life; he had even taken it as his last name. He had been fourteen when Hector arrived; not long after, they had become best friends and musical geniuses together.

  
They played one last note and their audience applauded. Ernesto basked in the noise, waving and taking a bow. She knew Héctor well enough to know that he loved it as well, but his eyes also always searched for her in every crowd. She waved, and he smiled.

  
The crowd cleared slightly, and Héctor handed Ernesto his guitar. He came over and took Imelda’s hand. “_Mi amor_, I wasn’t expecting you here.”

  
“I went by the orphanage but Señora Rodriguez said you were here,” Imelda said. “Sofia told me she saw you heading toward the center of the plaza, so it wasn’t hard to find you. Plus, you were singing my song.”

  
“All of them are your songs, my love,” Héctor said. Imelda felt her cheeks grow warm.

  
“Imelda,” Sofia sang next to her ear. “My mama will have my head if I’m late again, and I still have to get the groceries. Are you okay now?”

  
Imelda nodded. “I’ll see you soon, yes?”

  
Sofia smiled brightly and nodded. She waved at Héctor and then turned and weaved her way through the crowd.

  
Héctor turned toward Imelda and offered his arm. She took it. “Can we go somewhere a little quieter?”

  
He nodded. They walked over to Ernesto, and Héctor took his guitar from him. “Imelda and I are going for a walk. I’ll meet up with you later?”

  
Ernesto nodded. “It’s nice to see you, Imelda.”

  
“It’s nice to see you too, Ernesto,” Imelda said. “How’s your job?”

  
Ernesto had a job at the grocer’s, and Imelda knew how much he wished he could spend more of his time playing music. “Dull, as always. I have to get there now, actually.”

  
“Have fun,” Héctor called out after him. He chuckled, then looked down at Imelda. “The river?”

  
She nodded, and they walked down the path. It got quieter and quieter as they walked away from town, and Imelda sighed in relief at the silence. “I love this.”

  
“What?” Héctor asked.

  
“The walking out of town. It feels so nice. Like...I can think again,” Imelda said.

  
They stopped, and Héctor spun Imelda around to face him. He put his hands under her chin, and tilted her face up. He kissed her softly, Imelda raising up on her toes to meet him.

  
When they broke apart, she said, “My parents invited you over for my birthday dinner tomorrow.”

  
Héctor laughed. “Did they invite me or did you invite me and they agreed?”

  
“The second one,” Imelda said. “But they said yes, so it doesn’t really matter.”

  
“Is Señor Herrera going to be there?” Héctor said, his voice light, but with a sharpness behind it.

  
“No,” Imelda said. “Diego Herrera does not need to come to my dinner.”

  
“Shouldn’t he be giving you some fancy ring for your birthday this year?” Héctor said.

  
Imelda hesitated. This was tricky ground for them. Héctor didn’t understand why Imelda’s family insisted on her marriage to Diego Herrera. “You know I don’t want it.”

  
“But you’ll accept it,” Héctor said. She stopped walking, and his eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Imelda. I didn’t mean that.”

  
“You know I’ll have to accept it,” Imelda said. “Whether I want to or not.”

  
“I know,” Héctor said. They started walking again. “It’s just...I wish I could give you what the Herreras can. Maybe your family would allow this, then.”

  
Imelda sighed, then squeezed his hand. They walked in silence until the fork in the road. They stopped, about to part ways. “Will you still come to dinner? I want my parents to actually meet you.”

  
Héctor sighed, then smiled somewhat sadly. “Of course I’ll still come. I wouldn’t miss it, _mi amor_.”

  
She pulled him down to kiss him. “I love you. And I’m always yours.”

  
“And I’m always yours.” Héctor said, kissing her back.

  
“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon before dinner,” Imelda said. “As long as you’re actually where you tell me you’ll be.”

  
Héctor laughed. “I’ll try!”

  
She waved at him, and then headed up the path.

  
Their relationship coming to light would be tomorrow’s problem. For today, Imelda was happy with just knowing Hector would be in her house, with her family for the first time tomorrow. That was all that mattered.


	2. 1917 - Part 2

Imelda forgot about Señor Herrera’s visit.

When she stepped in the door, her mother grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her into the foyer. “Where on earth have you been?”

“I was in town, running errands,” Imelda said. Her mother’s face darkened.

At some point over the years, Imelda had learned when to expect her mother to hit her. Usually it was after a bad day when her brothers had been locked up in the house with her mother all day, or when Imelda forgot to do household chores. This was one that she didn’t expect. Her mother’s slap was hard, and it took a moment for the pain to really hit. Her ears started ringing.

“Do not lie to me,” her mother said. “Señora Mendez saw you with that boy. You disgrace us by running around like that, you know? Señor Herrera is sitting in there waiting for you, and you look like you belong in the brothel. Fix yourself up. Five minutes.”

Her mother left the room. Imelda took a deep, shuddering breath, refusing to let the tears fall. She looked in the mirror. The glow that she always had after being with Héctor was gone; in its place was the pink handprint that her mother had left on her face. Imelda unbraided her hair, smoothing it out. She rebraided it and pulled it back. She was ready.

She waited the full five minutes before the handprint was gone.

When she walked into the sitting room, Diego Herrera stood up and walked over to her.

“Imelda, how lovely to see you again,” he said. He took her hand, and gently lifted it up to his lips. It was so chaste, and a sweet gesture. It made Imelda want to gag.

“The pleasure is all mine, Señor Herrera,” Imelda said, taking her seat next to him on the sofa. Her body went through the motions of pouring tea and sipping from the hot cup, but her mind was still in the plaza with Hector.

“So how is your family?” She asked.

“They are all well,” Diego said. “My mother is up to her chin in wedding plans. We have quite a large affair being planned for us.”

“Yes, my mother is very excited about it,” Imelda said.

“I am as well. Not long now, is it?” Diego said.

Imelda’s birthday was the next day. Their engagement would be officially announced the day after, and the wedding would take place two months after that. Two months until she was officially Imelda Herrera, the banker’s wife.

She blinked rapidly to dry up the tears.

“About two months,” Imelda said. “Are you ready to be tied to me for the rest of your life?”

He laughed as if she had intended it to be a joke. “I could do worse for a wife, Imelda.”

They sipped tea for a moment in silence. Then, Diego spoke again. “What are your plans for after the wedding, Imelda?”

“What do you mean?” Imelda said.

“Well, I have a reputation. I can’t have my wife wandering the plaza with someone like Sofia Hernandez acting like a common woman,” Diego said.

Imelda stilled. She hadn’t thought Diego knew about what she did in the plaza. If he knew she had been with Sofia, what else did he know? “What would you have me do, Diego?”

“I won’t make you do anything, of course, Imelda. I wouldn’t dream of it. But I do have certain...expectations of my wife. I expect a clean home. And meals to be cooked when I get home from the bank. And children, of course.”

Imelda wanted to vomit at the thought of having children with this man. He was handsome, of course. Broad shoulders, dark hair, dark eyes, and a chiseled face. But the thought of him in her bed, his hands on her like Héctor’s had been...she couldn’t stand it. She clenched her hands around her teacup and forced a smile. “Of course.”

“So you will think about what your expectations are after the wedding, yes? I want us to be happy together, Imelda,” He asked, checking his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to get going. My father wants me to look over some documents before dinner.”

“Thank you for stopping by,” Imelda said.

He stood, then paused. “Imelda…”

“Yes, Señor Herrera?” Imelda said.

“May I give you a kiss before I leave? I know it’s a bit forward of me to ask.”

She tried to imagine what would happen if she allowed him to kiss her. She would be allowing him to believe she wanted him like that, that he could _have_ her like that. But if she refused, it would certainly get back to her mother. Imelda, the daughter that would kiss orphans in the streets, but not her own handsome fiance.

She nodded.

Diego came close to her, and leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against hers. It was a chaste kiss, one that he knew would not cross any lines. His lips were soft, and he was not a bad kisser. But he wasn’t Hector.

He pulled away and smiled. “Thank you, Imelda. I will see you again soon.”

She waved a hand lightly as he left. Not a minute after, her mother hurried into the room.

“Well?” She asked.

“He wanted to discuss the wedding,” Imelda said. “That’s all.”

“You are very lucky he didn’t want to call the whole thing off, Imelda. If he found out about you and that boy, I cannot even imagine what the Herreras would say,” her mother said. “We would never be able to show our faces in town again.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Imelda said. “It won’t happen again.”

“I know it won’t,” Mama said.

“Can Héctor still come to dinner tomorrow night?” Imelda said.

Her mother gave her a sharp look. “Imelda, do you think that’s wise?”

Imelda took a deep breath and steeled herself. “It’s my birthday, and he’s the only friend I want there.”

Her mother sighed, then threw up her hands. “Fine, he can come. At least I can keep an eye on you with him if he’s here.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Imelda said, keeping her eyes low. Her mother couldn’t see the happiness in Imelda’s eyes at the idea of Hector coming. She would never allow it then.

“Go upstairs now,” her mother said. “I will call you when dinner’s ready.”

Imelda nodded, and turned for the stairs before her mother could change her mind.

* * *

The next day, Imelda went out early under the guise of grocery shopping. At the fork, Héctor was waiting for her with a jacket in one hand, his guitar in the other.

“What is that?” She asked as she walked up.

“I pulled my jacket out of the wardrobe this morning, and I found this,” he said, putting his hand through the sleeve and out of a ragged hole. “Can you fix it?”

Imelda took the jacket from him, and inspected the hole. “This is easy. Is this what you’re wearing to dinner tonight?”

Héctor nodded.

“Let’s find somewhere to sit and I can fix it quickly,” Imelda said.

They walked until they found a shaded spot under a tree and they sat down. He quietly strummed his guitar while she set to work on his jacket with the needle and thread that she kept in her bag. While she worked, she leaned against him, feeling his arm move as it gently strummed. She quietly hummed as she worked, until Héctor stopped playing abruptly.

She looked up at him and felt his hand tracing the cheek her mother had hit. Imelda stilled. She remembered there was a shadow of a bruise that she had forgotten to cover up. “What happened?”

Imelda was silent. She didn’t want to tell him--not when he was going over to meet her parents later that day. But he would figure it out anyway, even if she didn’t tell him outright. “I was late for Diego Herrera’s visit yesterday.”

“Did he do this?” Héctor said tensely.

“No,” Imelda said. “My mother did.”

Héctor laid his hand on her cheek, cupping it. He had seen too many bruises on Imelda because of that woman. “Because of me?”

“No,” Imelda said. “I was stupid and lost track of the time.”

“And your mother is still letting me come to dinner?” Héctor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, after I begged her,” Imelda said. She stabbed her needle roughly through the fabric of the jacket. “I just don’t understand why it’s such a crime for you to come to dinner.”

“Because I’m a street rat?” Héctor said, smirking as he went back to tuning his guitar. “Or maybe it’s because I’m not your fiancé?”

Imelda rolled her eyes as she sewed. “He’s not my fiancé yet. If I can have it my way, he never will be.”

“Ah, but _mi amor_, you can’t have it your way,” he said, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “It’s not up to me either.”

Imelda felt her eyes water, and swiped at them roughly. “It should be.”

Héctor watched her, taking in the tiny tells of emotion that he only knew because of the years they had spent together. The way the tips of her fingers trembled, the hint of color in her cheeks, the way she crossed and uncrossed her ankles. He leaned in close to her. “Maybe your papa will change his mind after he meets me. I’ll charm his pants off.”

She laughed. “My papa is not exactly a man to be charmed.”

He gasped dramatically. “You’re telling me Señor Antonio Diaz, the finest, no-nonsense doctor in Santa Cecilia, doesn’t fall for the charm of sweet, innocent street rats?”

“You are anything but sweet and innocent,” Imelda teased.

“You would know,” he said, and then kissed her, a long deep kiss.

She gasped, then hit his chest lightly. “Héctor Rivera, we are too close to town for that.”

“Maybe if Diego Herrera walks by and sees you in a compromising position with a lowly orphan, he will call off your so-called engagement,” Héctor said, kissing her again.

She laughed, but pushed him away. “I don’t think it works that way.”

He sighed, but smiled at her. He wished this was as simple as it had been three years ago: he and Imelda, just the two of them, playing music down by the river. Before Imelda had grown into her beauty. Before she had been promised to the banker’s affluent son upon her eighteenth birthday. Before Héctor realized just how different their two worlds were.

She pushed his jacket back toward him. “There, good as new.”

They stood up to walk back toward Imelda’s house along the river. After a few minutes, he spoke up. “Are you sure you want me to come? I don’t want to give your mother a reason to hit you again.”

Héctor hadn’t really meant to ask; he knew she wanted him there. But his poverty, and seeing that bruise, made his insecurity worse.

Imelda stopped, her eyes darting to the sides. Then, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her.

This kiss wasn’t like earlier. It was heartstopping. He held her close to him, deepening the kiss as much as she would let him. They weren’t well-hidden; he knew someone could see them if they happened to look close enough. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

She pulled away from him, slightly breathless, her cheeks pink. “You can really be an idiot. Of course I want you to come.”

She stepped away from him, and he realized that they were at the place where the path split in two. “I will see you later,” Imelda said, taking a step down the path. She waved at him as she turned around to walk down the path.

Héctor sighed and waved back. “Until then, _mi amor_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm trying to follow a posting schedule, so look for the next chapter next Monday, around 5:00 EST!


	3. 1917 - Part 3

Imelda felt like she was walking on eggshells around her mother all day.

Her mother had told her happy birthday once, and then spent the rest of the day pretending Imelda didn’t exist. Imelda was trying to keep her mother happy by watching her brothers so her mother could relax. It was an easy way to pass the time; Felipe and Oscar kept her running around the house for hours.

Before she knew it, she was getting ready for her dinner in her new, deep red dress with a square neckline, embroidered with white lace. She braided her hair down her back, and stuck a red rose in the top of it. As the clock approached six, and then went past it, Imelda hoped and prayed that Héctor showed up.

At a quarter past six, she heard a knock at the door. She rushed to the top of the steps, and watched as her father opened the door.

“Señor Diaz,” Héctor said when he opened the door. “I’m Héctor Rivera. Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

Imelda’s father was still, appraising Héctor. Héctor was in his jacket that Imelda had mended that morning, and he had tried to make his hair look like less of a mess than usual.

“Hello, Héctor,” her father said, shaking Héctor’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Héctor,” Imelda said, walking down the rest of the steps.

“Imelda,” Héctor said. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said. This formality was uncomfortable; she wanted to hug him or kiss him or maybe just hold his hand while they walked toward the sitting room. She wanted him to call her _mi amor_ like he always did when they were alone.

They sat across from each other in the sitting room, and Imelda’s father gave him another appraising look. “So, Héctor, what do you do?”

“I’m a musician, Señor,” Héctor answered. “At least for now. I am only seventeen, after all.”

“A musician,” Señor Diaz said, a hint of derision in his voice. Imelda wanted to bury her head in her hands. “Does that pay well?”

Héctor paused. “It...not quite, sir. If the audience is impressed, it does.”

He chuckled, trying to lighten some of the tension. Señor Diaz did not laugh.

“Well, I hope your audience stays impressed then,” Señor Diaz said. “Although I would consider another profession, boy.”

Imelda felt a flash of resentment. Héctor was a good musician; not everybody could be doctors. She looked over at Héctor. His cheeks were growing pink, and he looked like he was trying to find another topic of conversation. But Imelda could see her father was done talking.

The tension was relieved by Felipe and Oscar running into the room. “Imelda!”

She sighed, and turned to Héctor. “These are my brothers, Oscar and Felipe.”

“Of course,” Héctor said, smiling brightly. “Let me guess. You’re Oscar, and you’re Felipe.”

He had pointed to the right twin. Oscar gasped. “How did you know?”

“It’s my secret talent,” he said, winking at them. Imelda stifled a giggle, remembering how she had told him that Felipe had a small scar below his lip that Oscar did not.

“Imelda,” Felipe said. “Mama said that dinner is ready.”

They all rose, and Imelda smoothed her skirt with shaky hands. She waited until everyone filed into the dining room before reaching forward and grabbing Hector’s hand.

“Héctor,” she said.

“I’ll play nice,” he said.

She let his hand fall. She sighed, then followed him in. Her mother was standing by the table, laying a platter of tamales down. She looked up after Felipe and Oscar had settled into their seats.

Héctor walked over to her. “Señora Diaz, thank you for inviting me into your home. I’m Héctor Rivera.”

Imelda’s mother looked like she wanted to ignore Héctor and walk away, but she forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Héctor. I hope you enjoy the meal.”

Héctor nodded, and smiled. “I’m sure I will.”

Imelda took her seat next to her mother, and Héctor took the seat beside her. They blessed the meal, then began serving themselves food.

“So, Héctor,” Imelda’s mother started. “Imelda has told us you are a musician.”

“Yes, Señora,” Héctor said.

“What are your future plans? Music cannot carry you very far, I wouldn’t think.” Her mother said, a saccharine smile plastered on her face.

Imelda glanced at Héctor. He was still smiling, but she saw him clench his fist under the table. “I haven’t thought much about it. I was telling Señor Diaz earlier, I’m only seventeen. I have some time to think about it.”

“Time goes fast,” Señora Diaz said. “If you’re not thinking about it, then time will run right past you.”

“I understand, Señora,” Héctor said. “Hopefully my music can carry me a little further though.”

Señora Diaz laughed shortly. “Well, it’s always nice to have a back-up plan.”

“How is school?” Imelda interrupted, directing attention to Felipe and Oscar. The twins chattered for a few minutes, allowing a brief reprieve between Héctor and Señora Diaz.

“Imelda,” Señora Diaz’s voice cut the silence after the twins exhausted all school stories. “I forgot to mention earlier, the tailor called and wanted to know when you want to have your dress fitted.”

Imelda could feel Héctor’s eyes on her. “Mama, I don’t need it fitted yet.”

“The wedding is in two months, Imelda. We have to start thinking of these things,” her mother said.

Imelda felt Héctor’s body stiffen beside her. “I’ll think about it, Mama.”

“And your portrait will be taken for the paper tomorrow for your engagement announcement,” Señora Diaz said, with a smile.

Imelda wanted to cry. Her mother was enjoying this, wasn’t she? “Yes, Mama.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes until her mother thought of something else. “Oh, and Señora Herrera called to ask me where you and Diego planned to go after the wedding,” she said. “So she can check and see if it is suitable.”

Héctor stood up abruptly. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked quickly out of the room.

Her family watched him leave. “Well,” Señora Diaz said. “That was quite rude.”

Imelda stared at her mother, then stood up. “I’ll be back.”

She ignored shouts of her name and hurried from the room. Héctor was standing toward the door. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

“I’m sorry,” Imelda said. “Please, don’t go.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were marrying him in two months?” Héctor asked.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” she said.

“And you thought finding out like this wouldn’t upset me?” Héctor said harshly. “Listening to your mother talk about marriage, and...and your wedding night? You don’t think it would upset me to hear your mother talk about your wedding night with someone like Diego Herrera?”

“I didn’t want her to say that,” Imelda said. “Why are you blaming me?”

“I’m not,” Héctor said, and he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t go,” Imelda begged. “I’ll get her to apologize.”

“Imelda,” Héctor said. “I can tell when I’m not wanted somewhere. If I stay, I’m going to say something that she won’t like. And I won’t be the reason she hits you again.”

“I want you here,” she said, tears starting to cloud her vision.

He lifted his hand, and brushed a tear off her cheek. “You’re the only one, _mi amor_.”

She lifted her hand to his cheek, knowing that this was dangerous. “I’m the only one that matters.”

She raised up on her toes, and brushed her lips lightly against his. As they broke apart, she heard footsteps behind them.

“Imelda!” Her mother snapped, and yanked her away from Héctor. She pushed her toward the stairs and forced her up them, blocking her view of the door.

She heard her father demanding that Héctor leave the house, and the door slamming shut. Her mother dragged Imelda to her room, and pushed her in and shut the door behind them.

Imelda knew to expect the slap this time. Her face stung, pain sparking stars behind her eyes.“How dare you act like that in our home?”

“Act like what?” Imelda said. “A teenager?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Imelda,” her mother said. “You are an engaged woman. We let that boy in here as a kindness to you. Then you run out of dinner, and we find you kissing him in the hallway, not trying to hide it. It’s like we don’t know you anymore, Imelda. Do you care about what’s best for this family?”

“What’s best for this family is not what’s best for me, though, Mama,” Imelda said.

“It does not matter, Imelda,” she said. “What matters is that you marry Diego Herrera, not some nameless orphan musician!”

“Why is that what matters? You’re supposed to care about what I want, what will make me happy. All you’re thinking of is what will make you happy,” Imelda exclaimed, her tears running freely down her face.

“I don’t need this right now, Imelda,” her mother said. “You know what I expect of you. You know what your father expects of you. You’ve known it for a year now. You are the one who is breaking those expectations. You are the one who is causing problems in this family.”

Imelda stayed silent. She sat down on her bed, looking at her hands in her lap. There was nothing more for her to say.

“You’re not to see him again,” her mother said. “Not in town, not at that orphanage, not in the plaza. Do you understand me?”

Imelda nodded.

“Look at me when I speak to you, Imelda,” her mother snapped. “Do you understand me?”

Imelda lifted her head. “Yes, Mama.”

“You are my daughter, Imelda, and I love you very much. I want to make sure you do what’s best for our family and for yourself. You may not know what that is, but I do,” her mother said. “You’ll thank me later.”

Imelda nodded. “Can I just go to bed now?”

Her mother’s face softened slightly. “Yes, you have an important portrait tomorrow. Get some sleep so you look your best.”

Her mother left the room, and Imelda buried her head in her pillow.

After what felt like hours, Imelda sat up. She swiped at her eyes, and took a deep breath. What was she doing? She couldn’t lay in bed and cry if she really wanted anything to change. She crept to the door and listened. She heard nothing in the hallway outside her door. She glanced at her window. It led out to the garden, not visible to any other window in the house.

She grabbed a canvas bag from her wardrobe, stuffed a simple dress into it, along with her hairbrush and shoes. She threw the bag on her back and shoved her window open. The trellis outside her window did not look like the most solid contraption; she sat on the windowsill and tested it with her foot. It didn’t seem like it would snap, so she climbed out and down.

When her feet were firmly planted on the ground, she adjusted the bag on her back and ran off toward the woods. She turned right at the fork, not looking behind her, just in case someone had followed her from the house. By the time she came to the orphanage, she was breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath. She walked to the window that she knew was nearest Héctor’s small quarters, She took a deep breath, raised her fist, and knocked on the glass.

Héctor looked up, his eyes widened, and he turned and rushed toward the door. A few seconds later, he was rounding the corner and coming toward her. “Imelda, what are you-”

She threw herself into his arms. “I couldn’t stay there, Héctor.”

Héctor wrapped his arms tightly around her, then slid his hands down to her hips. “What are you saying? Did you run away?”

“My mama said I can’t see you again,” Imelda said, tears falling down her face. “I can’t face a life of being married to Diego Herrera anymore. I won't do it anymore.”

“Imelda, slow down,” Héctor said. “What’s going on?”

Imelda took a deep breath. “I can’t marry Diego Herrera. I want to marry you. I want us to be a family, Héctor. I don’t want my mama to be right.”

“They’ll never let us get married, _mi amor_. Unless I was the last man living in Santa Cecilia,” Hector said. “Maybe not even then.”

“I know,” Imelda said. Then, she said, “What if we did anyway?”

She was surprised herself that she had said it, but even as it left her mouth, she knew she meant it. She had been thinking of it for days. She was eighteen now; it should be her decision.

Héctor sighed. “Imelda-”

“I’m serious. I’m eighteen.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I won’t be for almost a year.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Imelda said. “Not to the church, not once you’re sixteen. We could do it.”

“Imelda,” Héctor said. “This is serious.”

“Do you love me?”

“What?” Héctor said, letting go of her waist.

“Do you love me?” Imelda crossed her arms.

“I-yes, of course, I love you,” Héctor said, confused. “I tell you every day.”

“And I love you. More than anything.,” Imelda said. She reached out and tugged his shirt, pulling him closer to her. “Shouldn’t that be all that matters?”

“Diego Herrera-”

“Diego Herrera can’t marry me if I’m already married,” Imelda said. “It would take less than two hours. We could be married, Héctor. It’s what we’ve always wanted.”

“Imelda-”

“We can tell Ernesto. He can witness,” Imelda said. “Or Sofia.”

“Imelda-”

“Don’t-just, don’t tell me this is a stupid idea. It’s the only thing I can come up with. Either way, I’m not marrying Diego Herrera. I’ll leave Santa Cecilia if I have to.”

“_Mi amor_,” Héctor said, taking her hand. “I was going to say, when do we go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Look for the next chapter on Monday!


	4. 1917 - Part 4

It took them ten minutes to walk into town, and they stopped in the plaza. At eight at night, there were a few people wandering around, waiting for the nighttime entertainment.

“I’ll go ask Sofia,” Imelda said. “And you’ll ask Ernesto?”

Héctor nodded. “Ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes,” Imelda said, and they parted ways.

She walked to Sofia’s house, two streets over from the plaza. She knocked, and half-hoped that Sofia’s mother wouldn’t answer the door. But then she remembered her mother’s distaste for the Hernandez family, and knew Sofia’s mother would not be running to the phone to call Señora Diaz.

Sofia cracked open the door. “Imelda?”

“I need your help,” Imelda said. “Can I come in?”

Sofia nodded, and opened the door. “What’s going on?”

“Héctor and I are getting married,” Imelda said. “And we need a witness.”

Sofia blinked. “Wait. Back up a second. You and Hector are getting married?”

Imelda nodded, and started pulling the dress out of her bag. It wasn’t a wedding dress, but it would do. Light sky blue silk that clung to her skin in the right places, and flared out everywhere else.

“But he’s seventeen,” Sofia said. “And not your fiancé.”

“We’re going to lie,” Imelda said. “And I never announced my engagement to Diego Herrera, so he’s not my fiancé either.”

“Imelda,” Sofia said.

“Don’t try to talk me out of it,” Imelda said. “I’m not asking for advice. I’m just asking for support.”

Sofia looked at her. Then, with uncharacteristic gravity, asked, “You really love him, don’t you?’

Imelda nodded.

Sofia sighed. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Imelda threw her arms around her. “Thank you.”

“Can I help you get ready?” Sofia said, gesturing to the dress in Imelda’s hands.

“Yes, please,” Imelda said. Five minutes later, Imelda was dressed in the simple dress, her hair falling loose down her back with a flower by her ear.

“Let’s go get you married,” Sofia said, smiling widely.

They met Héctor and Ernesto in the plaza. They were waiting, Hector with a borrowed jacket on and his hair combed for once. When he saw her, his eyes widened.

“Wow,” Héctor said, taking her hand when she got to him. “I knew you were beautiful, _mi amor_, but right now you are absolutely breathtaking.”

She laughed, and then stood up on her toes to kiss him. He picked her up around the waist and spun her around.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked.

She nodded. “We need to get to the church before the priest leaves.”

“Won’t somebody tell your mother that you’re out in wedding clothes?”

“Let them,” Imelda said. “By the time she gets there, we’ll already be married.”

Héctor smiled. “We’re getting married.”

“I cannot wait to be Señora Rivera,” Imelda said.

Héctor looked down at her. “You’re taking my name? I thought you said you wanted to keep Diaz.”

“I’ve decided against it. I want every part of me to be yours. And my name is part of that.” Imelda said.

“My name means nothing, Imelda,” Héctor said. “It’s worthless to be a Rivera here.”

“It means something to me,” Imelda said. “And we can make it mean something to others. Together.”

“Imelda-”

“I love you, Héctor Rivera,” Imelda said. “I love everything about you, and that includes your name. This is my choice, and I want to be Imelda Rivera.”

Héctor smiled again, then grabbed her by the waist and kissed her again. “We should get going. Are you ready?”

Imelda smiled, and took his hand. “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”

* * *

It took thirty minutes at the church.

Ten minutes to convince the priest to marry them. Five minutes spent vouching that Héctor was of age and able to be married. Ten minutes waiting. Five minutes to say their vows and sign the marriage certificate.

Thirty minutes and they were married. They left the church, and Sofia clapped her hands. “Now we need to celebrate!”

Ernesto led them to a shop and bought a bottle of tequila and called it their wedding present. All four of them took a sip of the tequila, and laughed at Sofia’s puckered face as she spit hers back out. Music drew them to the plaza, as it always did. It was a band that had played there before, and Héctor and Ernesto knew them.

Héctor grabbed Imelda’s hand. “Let’s dance,” he said. “We’ve never been able to before.”

Imelda nodded, and Héctor swept her into the growing crowd of people. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they danced around. Imelda smiled and threw her head back in a laugh. Ernesto had pulled Sofia into the crowd as well, both of them not wanting to get left out of the festivity.

“I love you, Héctor,” Imelda said, kissing him swiftly on the cheek in between a quick dance move.

“I love you too, _mi amor_,” Héctor said. “Always.”

Imelda danced with a livelier spring in her step. Hector looked around, and then leaned down to her. “There are people watching us.”

She glanced around at the other dancers. Most were consumed with their own revelry, but there were a few who were casting glances at Imelda and then whispering to the people around them. Imelda shrugged her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Héctor smiled, and swept her up into a spin. They danced for what felt like hours, until Ernesto and Sofia pushed their way through the crowd. “I have to get home,” Sofia said, throwing her arms around Imelda. “Congratulations, I know you’ll be very happy.”

“Thank you, Sofia,” Imelda said. Sofia hurried off from the plaza, and Ernesto cleared his throat. “I think I’ll be leaving as well, my friend. The place is yours for tonight.”

Héctor nodded, and shook Ernesto’s hand before he left.

Imelda looked curiously at Héctor. “What is he talking about?”

Héctor’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Well, seeing as how I live in an orphanage, Ernesto offered to let us use his apartment for...for tonight.”

His face was turning even redder, and Imelda laughed. “Don’t get nervous on me now, Hector.”

“I’m not!” Héctor said, his cheeks flaming. “I just-”

Imelda interrupted him with a kiss. “Let’s go, yeah?”

They weaved their way through the plaza, and walked to the northern edge of town. Imelda felt like she had never smiled so much in her life. When they got to a small building, Héctor walked to the lower door and unlocked it. He then, to her surprise, swept her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold.

She lifted her hand up to his cheek, and leaned in to kiss him gently. “I can’t believe you’re my husband, Héctor Rivera.”

He carried her over to the bed and laid her down gently. He knelt over her, his arms on either side of her head. “I never dared to even dream this could happen with us. I am so lucky to be your husband, _mi amor_.”

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down to her. He kissed her gently, then more deeply when her hands trailed down over his chest, pulling buttons open as she went. He pulled away as she got to the last button, and she made a noise of protest.

“Wait,” he said. “I forgot something.” She pushed up to a sitting position as he crossed the room and fished something out of his jacket pocket. He walked back over to her, hands behind his back.

“Héctor, what are you up to?” Imelda said.

He smiled. “Imelda, I wish I had gotten to do this the traditional way. But just because we didn’t have a traditional relationship doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a ring just the same.” He held out a small box, with a gold ring nestled in it. The ring was simple, two gold bands twisted around each other, a small stone set into each place the band intertwined. It was beautiful.

“Héctor, this is…” she said.

“It was my mother’s,” Héctor said. “It was in the box of their things that the military gave the orphanage after they identified my parents. I never knew if I would give it to someone, but I think it’s perfect for you.”

She held out her hand, and he slipped the ring onto it. She lifted her hand, admiring it, and then she laid her hand against his cheek. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

He laid his hand on top of hers, and kissed her deeply. “A beautiful ring for the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She smiled. “Now, where were we?”

He smiled devilishly, and laid her back on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I was a little late with this chapter, but next week I'll be back on time, Monday at around 5:00 p.m.!


	5. 1917 - Part 5

Imelda woke the next morning with the unfamiliar feeling of arms wrapped around her waist. She smiled, and snuggled back into Héctor’s embrace.

“Good morning, Señora Rivera,” Héctor whispered into her ear.

She turned her head. “Good morning, Señor Rivera.”

He kissed her lightly, and she leaned back with a sigh.

“What?” He asked.

“I hate to ruin the morning,” she said, sitting up. “But I have to pay a visit to my parents.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asked, running his fingers lightly against her arm.

She shook her head. “It’ll only make it worse. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Will you be here?”

“I’ll stay here until you get back,” Héctor said. “Ernesto will probably be back by then.”

Imelda leaned in and kissed him deeply. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, _mi amor_,” Héctor said. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Imelda nodded, and hurried to get dressed.

On her way out of town, she thought she saw some people glance at her as she walked by. She walked quickly out of the center of town, and followed the path up to her house. She took a deep breath, and knocked on the front door.

Her mother swung the door open, and gasped. “Where have you been?”

“I was out,” Imelda said.

Her mother grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the house. “Your engagement portrait is in an hour and you look a mess. Never mind where you’ve been all night, I will deal with that later.”

She pulled her wrist away from her mother. “I’m not doing the engagement portrait.”

Her mother gave her an icy glare. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t,” Imelda said slowly. “Do the engagement portrait. Or the announcement.”

“Imelda, don’t be ridiculous,” her mother scoffed. “I know you’ve been having some kind of episode the past few weeks, but you will get over it.”

Imelda shook her head. “No, Mama, I don’t think I will.”

“Imelda,” her mother said sharply. “We have talked about this.”

“No, you talked, and I listened,” Imelda said. “And now it’s my turn to talk, and you listen.”

“How dare you speak to your mother like that,” her mother snapped. “Wait until your father hears about this.”

“Call him in,” Imelda said. “I need to tell him the same thing.”

Her mother glared at her.

“I’m serious,” Imelda said. “If you don’t go get him, I will. I will wait in the sitting room.”

Imelda turned and went into the sitting room. A moment later, her mother and father entered.

“Imelda,” her father said. “Your mother and I are very disappointed in your behavior last night.”

“Papa,” Imelda said. “I didn’t come back to discuss my behavior.”

“Then why-” her father began, but he was interrupted.

“What is that on your hand?” Her mother said.

Imelda glanced down and touched the gold ring. Héctor’s ring. “It was a gift last night from Héctor.”

Her father looked confused, trying to place Héctor’s gift in the timeline of events from last night. Her mother, however, had gone white. “Imelda, that is not what I think it is.”

Imelda tried to breathe deeply. “What do you think it is, Mama?”

“That is not an engagement ring,” her mother said. “Not to that boy.”

“It’s not an engagement ring, Mama,” Imelda said.

Her mother breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodn-”

“It’s a wedding ring,” Imelda said.

Her mother and father both went still. Then, her mother spoke, her voice deadly calm. “Imelda Diaz, you are not married. You are not going to be married for another two months.”

“I got married last night, Mama,” Imelda said. “And my name is Imelda Rivera.”

“You will get it annulled,” her mother said, her voice like ice.

Imelda smiled. “There isn’t any grounds for annulment, Mama. And the Church does not grant divorces. I can, however, annul the marriage to Diego Herrera if you force me to marry him.”

“You are ruining this family,” her mother said. “Do you understand that?”

Imelda nodded. “But I think you’ll be just fine.”

“Imelda,” her mother said. “This is my last warning. You will marry Diego Herrera. You will do your duty to this family.”

Imelda stood. “I won’t. I did my duty to myself, Mama, and I’m happy with that.”

“Then you are not welcome in this house anymore, Imelda,” her mother said. “You want to be a street rat’s wife that badly, then you can live that life. Go be a worthless Rivera if it means that much to you.”

Imelda leveled her gaze at her mother. “It means more to me than being nothing more than a pretty little Diaz waiting for a rich man to come take me away.”

Her mother turned her back on her. “Then go. I can’t look at you anymore. You can’t be my daughter anymore. You just...can’t be.”

Imelda paused, waiting to see if her mother would turn back around. When she didn’t, Imelda turned to her father. “Papa-”

“Just go, Imelda,” he said, not looking at her. “This isn’t the time to talk about this.”

Imelda waited, then nodded and walked out the door.

* * *

Imelda ran back to town, rushing through the morning crowd that was starting to form. When she passed the bank, she felt someone grab her arm.

“Imelda,” Diego Herrera said. “I think we need to talk.”

Imelda pulled her arm from his grasp. “There’s nothing for us to talk about, Señor Herrera.”

Imelda turned to push her way through the crowd again, but Diego grabbed her arm and pulled around the corner into a small alleyway. “What are you doing?” She snapped. “You have no right to just throw me around like that.”

“My mother just told me that our engagement is supposedly off,” Diego said. “Have you lost your mind, Imelda?”

“No, I haven’t,” Imelda said.

“Marrying Héctor Rivera? When you could have married me? Married into my family?” Diego asked.

“I assumed you would be grateful,” Imelda said. “You can marry whoever you would like to now.”

“I wanted to marry you,” Diego said.

“You were being forced to marry me,” Imelda corrected.

“I have had my life planned out since I was ten, Imelda,” Diego said. “Before I even met you, I knew I was going to marry you because of our parents.”

“And that didn’t bother you?” Imelda asked.

Diego shook his head. “I liked knowing that I didn’t have to make the big decisions. And you’re ruining that for me, Imelda.”

“I made a choice, Diego,” Imelda said.

“And you made the wrong one,” Diego said harshly. Imelda flinched. “This isn’t about you. It was never about you. It’s about our families, and what we are expected to do. Do you think it will look good on me if people find out my fiancee left me and eloped with a nameless orphan boy?”

“Every minute I’ve been here has shown me I made the right choice, Diego,” Imelda said. “And I need to get home to my husband.”

She moved, but he grabbed her wrist and pinned it to the wall. “You will get your marriage annulled. No one ever has to know.”

Imelda pulled, trying to get her wrists away. “I won’t. Let go of me!”

Diego did not budge. “The priest wouldn’t have married you if he knew that you were already engaged, Imelda. You have to get it annulled.”

“We were never officially engaged,” Imelda said. “The deal was it would be announced the day after my eighteenth birthday. I got married on my birthday. Our engagement was never official. Let. Me. Go."

Diego paused, then stepped away. “You’ll regret this, Imelda. We can talk in a year when he’s left you and you’re groveling for forgiveness.”

“Don’t hold your breath, Diego,” Imelda snapped. She hurried away from him, leaving Diego standing in the alley, alone.

* * *

Imelda ran back to town, bursting into Ernesto’s apartment. Héctor was sitting in the chair while Ernesto made a pot of something in the kitchen. Imelda hurried to Hector and wrapped her arms around him. She dropped her head, hoping he didn’t see her cry.

“Imelda?” Héctor said, putting his hand beneath her chin and lifting her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I saw Diego Herrera on my way back,” Imelda said. “He said I was making him look bad.”

“Good,” Hector said. "Someone should make him look bad."

“He also said I would be begging for him in a year when you decide to leave me,” Imelda said.

Héctor lifted her face up. “You know that’s never going to happen, right?”

“Of course I know that,” Imelda said. “I just don’t think I had thought about how hard this is going to be.”

Héctor stared at her face, watching the tears well up in her eyes. He sighed. “It’s not too late to change your mind, Imelda. I won’t be angry.”

Imelda sat up and wiped her eyes. “What?”

“If you want to change your mind,” he said. “You can. I don’t want to be the reason you’re in pain.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Imelda said. “It’s not a choice between you and my family, Héctor. It’s a choice between a life with you or a life in misery with Diego Herrera. My mother made that very clear.”

“It’s still a choice that you have to make,” Héctor said.

“And I’ve made it,” Imelda said. “My choice is you.”

“But like you said,” Héctor told her. “It’s going to be hard being married to me.”

“I said it would be hard, not that it wouldn’t be worth it,” Imelda said. “A hard life with you is worth ten thousand easy lives with someone like Diego.”

Héctor was quiet, then he chuckled softly. “So what now?”

Imelda smiled. “Well, we are currently homeless.”

“And jobless,” Héctor said.

“Not true,” Imelda said. “You have your music.”

“That’s hardly a job, Imelda,” Héctor said.

“It pays money, doesn’t it?” she said. “And I can sew clothes. I’ll work with Senora Hernandez to get people to pay me to sew.”

“I can get a real job,” Héctor said. “Like Ernesto does.”

Imelda shook her head. “You love your music. I can’t make you do something you hate.”

Héctor sighed. “Ernesto manages a job and music just fine, and I can, too.”

“No,” Imelda said. “Music is your future. It's _our_ future, and I want to support that. If you focus on music, maybe that future will get here a little faster than we think.”

Héctor smiled, then kissed her. “We’re going to be just fine, I think.”

Imelda kissed him back. “I think you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, we're finally done with 1917!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and I will be back with a new chapter next Monday!


	6. 1918 - Part 1

After two months, Imelda and Héctor had settled into a routine. Two weeks after their wedding, Ernesto and Héctor had had a man offer them a tour of Mexico with an advance payment. Héctor had used his half of the payment to buy a small house on the edge of town for the two of them. Two closet-sized bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a sitting room that barely had enough room to sit. It was the tiniest house Imelda had ever been in, but it was theirs. It was perfect.

Héctor worked on his music all day with Ernesto while Imelda tailored clothes that people dropped off on the front porch. At night, they went to the plaza and Imelda listened to Ernesto and Héctor play their music to a crowd that seemed to grow every night. Everything was shaping up well for their tour to leave in a month.

Then Imelda went to the doctor.

She thought that maybe she had already known when the doctor confirmed her thoughts, but she hadn’t wanted to be right. She hadn’t wanted to go to the doctor, for fear of it getting back to her father that she had visited the only other doctor in town. But when her suspicions kept growing, she couldn’t put it off any longer. The result had been exactly as she expected, and lunch with Sofia was the last thing that she felt like doing now.

“So how is married life?” Sofia said. “Still absolutely perfect?”

"Of course,” Imelda said. “But Héctor’s about to leave on his first tour. He and Ernesto leave tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s good!” Sofia exclaimed. “That’ll be more money than you two have made in your whole marriage.”

Imelda hesitated, then nodded.

“Why do you not seem happy, then?” Sofia asked.

Imelda laid her hand on her stomach lightly. “I’m pregnant.”

“Really?” Sofia asked.

Imelda nodded. “I just found out today, before I came here.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Sofia asked.

Imelda looked scathingly at Sofia. “What do you think? Of course, I’m going to tell him. He’s my husband, it’s not like we had some sordid affair.”

“But,” Sofia said. “Are you going to tell him before he leaves?”

Imelda hesitated. “I...haven’t decided. If I tell him, he might not go. He needs to go on this tour. I told him I wouldn’t hold him back from his dreams, and music is that dream.”

“But if you don’t tell him,” Sofia said. “What’s he going to think when he comes back and you’re visibly pregnant?”

Imelda sat in silence for a moment, then shook her head. “I have to tell him before he leaves. He’s going to be gone for two months. I’ll be five months along at that point.”

“What if he stays?” Sofia said.

Imelda shook her head. “I’ll make him go. I’ll be fine for two months by myself.”

“Good luck with that,” Sofia said. “Convincing Héctor to leave you seems like a fruitless effort if you ask me.”

“We’ll see,” Imelda said.

They ate in silence for a moment. Then, Sofia said, “So do you have any names in mind?”

“Sofia,” Imelda said, rolling her eyes. “I-”

“That’s a great name,” Sofia said.

“I was saying, Sofia, it’s a little too early to be thinking of names. I just found out I’m pregnant an hour ago.”

“Well,” Sofia said. “I still think Sofia would be an excellent name.”

Imelda laughed, then finished her meal. “I need to go. I want to meet Hector when he gets home.”

Sofia nodded. “And I’ll be betting that Hector will still be here tomorrow when Ernesto leaves on that tour.”

Imelda rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Sofia.”

“Bye bye, Imelda,” Sofia said. “See you later.”

* * *

Imelda walked into their house, the door creaking as she opened and closed it. She put her bag down by the door, and heard footsteps coming toward the hall.

“Imelda?” Héctor said, coming into the hall.

“I wasn’t expecting you home,” Imelda said. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your tour?”

“Ernesto and I decided to call it an early day,” Héctor said. “Where were you?”

“Sofia’s,” Imelda said. She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. “We were having lunch.”

“Oh, it is Tuesday, isn’t it?” Héctor said. “It slipped my mind.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re home,” Imelda said. “Because I needed to talk to you.”

They walked into their sitting room together, taking a seat on their worn-down sofa.

“That sounds...a little scary.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Imelda said quickly. “It’s actually a very good thing.”

Héctor sighed in relief. “What is it?”

Imelda took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

The room was silent. Héctor sat perfectly still, his hand wrapped around Imelda’s.

“Please say something,” Imelda said.

“H-How long have you known?” Héctor said.

“I just found out today,” Imelda said. “I’m only about two months along.”

Héctor paused, then smiled. “We’re going to have a baby?”

Imelda smiled back, then nodded. “In August, if I’m right about the date.”

“August,” Héctor said, a dreamy look on his face. Then, his expression shifted, and he stood up. “I need to talk to Ernesto.”

“No,” Imelda said, grabbing his hand again. “You don’t.”

Héctor turned to face her. “I can’t leave now, Imelda.”

“Héctor, I’m barely two months pregnant,” Imelda said. “It’s not like I’m having the baby in the next three months.”

“But I can’t leave you like this, Imelda,” Héctor said.

“I’m not helpless, Héctor,” Imelda scoffed. “I will be fine.”

“It’s my job to take care of you, Imelda,” Hector said. “How am I supposed to do that from all across Mexico?”

“You are taking care of me by going on that tour,” Imelda said. “You’re supporting us. And I can take care of myself here while you’re out there. And you’ll be back in three months. It’s not forever.”

Héctor sighed. “Are you sure?”

Imelda nodded.

“I’ll go, then,” Héctor said.

“You better write me letters,” Imelda said.

“Are you kidding?” Héctor said. “I’ll write you a letter every day, mi amor.”

Imelda wrapped her arms around his waist and curled up against him. He held her tightly. “I’m going to miss you,” Imelda said.

“Don’t say that,” Héctor said. “Or I really won’t leave.”

Imelda stretched up and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,_ mi amor_,” Héctor said. “You and our little family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Look for the next chapter next Monday!


	7. 1918 - Part 2

Imelda watched as Héctor finished packing his bag, laying the red songbook she had bought him two years ago on top. He latched his suitcase, then he paused with his hands on top of the case. Imelda laid her hand on top of his.

“Three months,” Imelda said. “Then you never have to leave again if you don’t want to.”

Héctor smiled, a small smile. “I’ll send letters. And money, whenever I get the chance.”

“Don’t worry too much about me,” Imelda said. “I’ll be fine. You just don’t go falling in love with any girl out there in those big cities.”

Héctor laughed. “Like that would even be possible, _mi amor_.”

He picked up his case, and they walked together to the door. She wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her cheek against his chest. “I’m going to miss you.”

Héctor held her tightly. “Three months.”

Imelda sighed, then lifted her head and kissed him. “You should get going. Before I change my mind and keep you here.”

Héctor smiled, then kissed her again. “I’ll write you as soon as I get there.”

He opened the door, and she waved one more time before he walked out and closed the door.

* * *

The first month without Héctor was harder than she had expected. It was difficult enough to endure the stares in town and still hold her head high, but now she had added intense waves of morning sickness into the mix. She woke up every morning throwing up, then dragging herself through town to Señora Hernandez’s house to pick up any sewing that needed done.

After a month, though, Imelda had either gotten used to the stares, or people had gotten used to her being Imelda Rivera instead of Imelda Diaz. Some of the women in the plaza still openly scoffed when Imelda went out every morning for groceries, or fabric, or some other miscellaneous thing, but most of them pretended Imelda didn’t exist. There were other scandals and gossip that required their attention, so Imelda passed unnoticed.

She was feeling better as well. Her body was adjusting to her pregnancy, and she could get out of bed in the morning without instantly feeling the need to vomit. She spent most days walking around with Sofia, who could chatter for hours about how excited she was for Imelda to have a baby. If anyone had heard her talking, they most likely would have thought that Sofia was having the baby instead.

“What do you think it is?” Sofia asked, her arm looped through Imelda’s.

Imelda shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think it’s a girl, but it’s still early.”

“Oh, I hope it’s a girl,” Sofia said. “Girls are so much fun to dress up. Does Héctor want a girl?”

“I think he just wants a healthy baby,” Imelda said. “But we haven’t talked about it very much.”

They walked down to the plaza, and listened to some aspiring musicians play. Sofia clapped and cheered, but the plaza only ever made Imelda miss Hector more.

“I’m going to head home, Sofia,” Imelda said. “I have some sewing that needs done for your mother.”

“Work can wait, Imelda,” Sofia said.

“I’m not feeling very well,” Imelda said, freeing her arm from Sofia’s. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Or you can drop by later for dinner if you’d like.”

Sofia frowned, but nodded. “Bye, Imelda.”

Imelda walked home, clutching her bag of fabric. When she reached their small house, she saw a white envelope sitting on the porch with Héctor’s handwriting on the front. She smiled and picked it up, reading the return address in the upper left. “Veracruz. So he’s near the ocean.” She put the letter on top of her back and opened the door.

When she walked into her house, she almost dropped the bag in surprise when she saw her mother standing in the sitting room.

“Mama,” Imelda said, tightening her grip on the bag. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see if the rumors are true,” Señora Diaz said. She looked around the tiny sitting room, wrinkling her nose.

“What rumors?” Imelda said.

“Some of the women in town were saying you were living by yourself down here,” her mother said. “They thought that Rivera boy may have up and left you.”

Imelda crossed her arms. “Well, those women are wrong. Héctor’s on tour right now. He’ll be back in a month.”

“So your marriage is….” her mother said stiffly.

“Fantastic, Mama,” Imelda said. “And you can go now.”

“Imelda,” her mother said.

“You came to ask a question, and I answered it,” Imelda said. She unpacked a few pieces of clothing from her bag. “I’m sure you have other things to be doing and I have work to do.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “I heard another rumor, Imelda.”

Imelda paused. “And what was it?”

“Are you seeing the other doctor in town?” Señora Diaz said, her voice chilly.

“Well, I can’t exactly go to Papa’s clinic, can I?” Imelda said. “Seeing a doctor isn’t a crime.”

“Imelda,” she snapped. “People are saying that you are pregnant.”

She hissed the last word, as if the “people” Señora Diaz talked about could hear them within this room.

Imelda stared at her mother, keeping her face set.

“Imelda,” her mother said, grabbing her arm. “Are you pregnant?”

Imelda yanked her arm free. “Yes, I am. Not that it matters to you.”

“It matters to me,” her mother said. “It impacts our whole family.”

“You told me yourself, I’m not part of your family anymore,” Imelda said. “My child won’t be either. It will be a Rivera.”

“Do you have any concern for how our family appears to this town?” Señora Diaz snapped.

“I am not part of your family,” Imelda snapped, throwing her hands up. “You said that, you made that happen. I can’t make you look bad and not be a part of your family, Mama. Pick one. Either I’m part of your family and I’m making you look bad, or I’m not and it doesn’t matter.”

“This is it, Imelda,” her mother said. “I will not let you back into our house with a street rat’s child. I cannot allow that.”

“You won’t have to,” Imelda said. She opened the door. “You can leave now.”

Her mother stood for a moment, and Imelda thought for half a second that she would refuse to leave. But after a moment, her mother rolled her shoulders and walked out.

Imelda shut the door and stared at it for a moment. Then, she picked up her clothing bag and took them to the sitting room. She took out Héctor’s letter with slightly shaking hands, and opened it.

_Imelda,_

_ Hello from Veracruz! It’s my first time here, and it is beautiful. The ocean is so big, and I wish I could bottle it up and send it back to you in Santa Cecilia. It’s so bright here all the time, and Ernesto and I are taking advantage of that sunshine. I think we’ve spent more time just walking around the town than we have actually playing! _

_Ernesto spends most nights with different packs of fans. Don’t worry - the fans tend to be Ernesto’s fans, not mine. I have been able to write quite a bit, and I started a song for our baby. It’s not ready yet, but maybe I’ll have it done by the time you have the baby! _

_It feels like every day I miss you a little bit more, mi amor. One more month until I can see you again, and kiss you again. It might be the longest month of my life. I’ll write again soon. Then I’ll be back, and words won’t have to be enough anymore. I can’t wait to see you again. _

_Always yours, _

_Héctor _

_P.S. I included a little charm of Veracruz for you, Imelda. I hope you’ll wear it and think of me. _

Imelda brushed a small tear from her eyes, and then pulled a chain out of the envelope. It was a small charm pendant with the sun engraved on it. It was cheap metal, but it was beautiful to her. She held it tightly in her hand, thinking of Héctor being gone and the confrontation with her mother, and prayed that the next month would end as quickly as possible, so they could face everything the way that they they had faced everything else. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Look for the next chapter next Monday!


	8. 1918 - Part 3

The next month passed quickly for Imelda, and the people in town were beginning to notice Imelda’s fuller, four months pregnant figure.

“Nobody even stares anymore, Imelda,” Sofia said. They were waiting at the train station for Ernesto and Hector, and Imelda was subconsciously wrapping her shawl around her stomach.

“I know,” Imelda said. “I’m not trying to hide it.”

Sofia was about to answer, but the train pulled up then. Imelda tried to keep calm, but at the first sign of people moving off the train, she started bouncing on the balls of her feet, trying to see over the crowd. When she saw Hector’s head above the crowd, she smiled broadly and called out, “Hector!”

He looked over at her, and she started running over to him. She threw her arms around his neck, and he lifted her up and spun her around. “_Mi amor_, I missed you so much!”

She kissed him, and he put her back down on the ground. “How was your tour?”

“It was amazing,” Hector said. “I’ll tell you about it later. How are you feeling?” He had his hands on her hips, and he moved one hand to rest on her stomach.

She laid her hand on top of his. “I’m feeling fine. I was sick the first month but I feel much better now.”

“I wish I had been here for you, Imelda,” Hector said. “But I’m not leaving again until after the baby is born, I promise.”

“Wait,” Imelda said, leaning back and furrowing her eyebrows. “Leaving again?”

Hector looked sheepishly at her. “Like I said, I’ll tell you about it later.”

“No, you can tell me about it now,” Imelda said, stepping back from him. “You can talk and walk at the same time.”

They started walking out of the train station towards their house, and he began to explain. “We had crowds of people who wanted to see us, Imelda. They wanted to hear our music. The man that offered us the tour was impressed, and he told us that if we can get some new songs together in the next few months, he can get us an even bigger tour.”

Imelda looked at him. His smile was wide, and his eyes were sparkling with excitement. “How long would it be?”

“I don’t know yet,” Hector said. “Not longer than this one, though. We just wouldn’t spend as much time in each place.”

Imelda was silent. Hector noticed and stopped, grabbing her hand. “Why don’t you come with us?”

“I don’t know,” Imelda said. “We’ll have a baby then, Hector.”

Hector’s face fell a moment, then brightened back up. “It’s not for a while, anyway. We can work it out later. I just want to get home and sleep in my own bed.”

Imelda linked her arm through his. “At least now people can stop asking me if you’ve left me.”

“What?” Hector said.

“My mother stopped by last month,” Imelda said. “And told me that she had heard rumors that you had left me. She had also heard that I was pregnant, and went on her usual rant.”

Hector was silent for a moment, then smiled brightly again. “Then we should go dancing in the plaza tonight, _mi amor_, and show them how wrong they were.”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful plan,” Imelda said, standing on her toes to kiss him.

* * *

Months passed, and Imelda felt like she grew bigger and bigger by the day. She and Hector talked endlessly about the baby: what they were going to name it, who it might look like, where they were going to get baby furniture. Imelda felt like everything was finally settling in and going their way for once.

But Imelda also noticed what was missing from their conversations: Hector rarely mentioned Ernesto, his music, or a tour. He played his guitar for her, and told her about new songs, but veered away from conversation about where his music would take him. She knew he was writing; his songbook was constantly out. And he wasn’t spending any more time at home than he usually did, so he and Ernesto were definitely doing something. She just couldn’t figure out what that something was.

In August, all of them could feel the anticipation at the thought that any day could be the day the baby was born. Hector stayed at home most days, and when he didn’t, Sofia was there instead. Today was one of Imelda’s days with Sofia, as Hector had left to work on a few songs with Ernesto.

“Are you getting nervous?” Sofia asked.

“No, just impatient,” Imelda said. “I can hardly move anymore, I’m ready for her to be out.”

“So you think it’s a girl?” Sofia asked, learning forward excitedly.

Imelda nodded. “I just…feel like it’s a girl. When I picture her, she’s a girl.”

“Has Hector mentioned anything else about another tour?” Sofia said. “I heard Ernesto talking about it to the grocer.”

Imelda looked down and smoothed her dress over her stomach. “He hasn’t mentioned it to me. I know it’s still on his mind, but I’m not bringing it up just yet.”

“Do you think he should go?” Sofia asked.

Imelda shook her head. “Not this time. I don’t think he needs to go. And I don’t think it’s the right time. But if he really wants to, another two months won’t kill me.”

Sofia set down her tea cup, and looked over at Imelda. “I heard Ernesto say it would be a four month tour, possibly six.”

“What?” Imelda said. “Hector didn’t say anything like that to me.”

“Maybe I misheard him,” Sofia said, reaching over and patting Imelda’s hand. “I’m sure Hector will tell you.”

“But if it’s longer, then I-” Imelda said, then broke off at the twinge in her stomach.

“Imelda?” Sofia asked. “Is everything all right?”

Imelda started to speak, then grimaced in pain. “No, I think I’m in labor.”

“What?” Sofia shrieked, standing up abruptly. “What should I do? Get towels? Water? Oh God, am I going to have to deliver it?” “

Sofia!” Imelda said. “Don't be ridiculous. Run to town, get the doctor and find Hector. He’s working with Ernesto, he said they would be at Ernesto’s apartment. That’s all I need you to do, all right? Get the doctor. Find Hector.”

Sofia nodded. “Right. Get the doctor. Find Hector. Will you be okay?”

“Yes, Sofia, I’ll be fine,” Imelda said. “Go, please.”

Sofia ran out the door into town.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the doctor came in, and made sure Imelda was comfortable in the bed. Another ten minutes, and Hector rushed in with Sofia on his heels.

“Imelda, I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he said quickly as he rushed to her side.

“It’s fine,” Imelda said. “The contractions aren’t even close yet. Where were you?”

“Ernesto and I were seeing some other musicians in the plaza,” Hector said, kneeling down and taking Imelda’s hand. “Sofia came running through like a crazy woman, Ernesto had to catch her before she ran right past us.”

Sofia was standing by the door, watching sheepishly. “I’ve never seen someone have a baby before, I didn’t know how long it would take. I didn’t want him to miss it.”

“Thank you, Sofia,” Imelda said, then noticed Sofia’s white face. “You don’t have to stay in here. You can go wait in the sitting room or go home. It will probably be a few hours.”

Another contraction hit Imelda, and she gripped Hector’s hand. Sofia went whiter, then nodded and left the room.

“Hector,” Imelda said, once the contraction passed. “We have to talk about this tour.”

“This isn’t really the time, Imelda,” Hector said.

“Sofia told me Ernesto was talking about it to people in town,” Imelda said. “Why haven’t you told me about it?”

Hector sighed. “I didn’t want to upset you right before the baby was supposed to come.”

“It upsets me more hearing it from Sofia instead of you,” Imelda said.

“I’m sorry,” Hector said. “I should have told you that we were talking about another tour.”

“You did tell me. Five months ago,” Imelda said. “What you didn’t tell me was that it’s going to be longer than the last one.”

Another contraction came, and Imelda hissed at the pain. She gripped Hector’s hand until it turned white.

Once it passed, Hector answered. “That’s actually a new development, Imelda. Up until a couple of days ago it was going to be two months just like the last one.”

“I want you here, Hector,” Imelda said. “Here with me, and with the baby. It’s not the right time.”

“It won’t be for another six months, Imelda,” Hector said. “Ernesto told me that, and the tour director needs time to set things up. I’ll be here until we get settled in, and then I’ll be back before the baby is a year old.”

“Hector…” Imelda said, then winced as another contraction began.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Hector said quickly. “I should have told you earlier, and I’m sorry. That’s all we need to say about it now.”

Imelda paused, then nodded.

Hours passed until the doctor finally said it was time to deliver. Another hour, and they heard the cries of their baby. Imelda sank back into the pillows, her eyes brimming with tears of pain and joy. Hector leaned over and kissed her head, right beside her ear.

The doctor wrapped the baby, then placed it in her arms. “She’s a beautiful baby girl, Señora Rivera,” he said. “Perfectly healthy.”

“I knew you were a girl,” Imelda said. “And here you are.”

“She’s perfect,” Hector whispered.

The doctor smiled at them and excused himself from the room, saying he would give them some privacy.

“Now comes the hard part,” Imelda said, pulling the blanket back gently from the baby’s face. “What do we call her?”

Hector thought for a moment, keeping his grasp on Imelda’s arm. “I’ve been thinking about naming her after my mother.”

Imelda looked up, her eyes wide in surprise. “You haven’t mentioned that to me yet.”

“I didn’t want to say anything in case I changed my mind,” Hector said. “But the more I think about it, the more I think it’s the right choice for her.”

“Tell me about her,” Imelda said. “I’ve never heard you talk about your parents.”

“I don’t remember much about them,” Hector admitted. “I was eight when they died, ten when I came to Santa Cecilia. I didn’t have anything to remind me of them when I came here. But they were great people from what little I remember, and what I was told.”

Imelda looked down at the baby, her brown eyes now open and staring. “What was your mother’s name?”

“Socorro. She was a nurse in the war,” Hector said. “She died saving people on the battlefield.”

Imelda stared at Hector for a moment. His head was angled down, looking at their baby’s face. She reached down and touched his hand. “I think Socorro would be a wonderful name for her.”

“I don’t know,” Hector said absentmindedly, grazing his fingers across the baby’s cheek. “It’s a little big, and she’s so small.”

He was right about that; the baby was tiny, smaller than Imelda had seen before. “We can name her that but call her a shorter name.”

“Like what?” Hector said, looking at Imelda.

Imelda thought for a second, rearranging syllables in her head into different shortened names. “What about Coco?”

“Coco,” Hector said thoughtfully. “I think it’s perfect.”

Imelda smiled, then rearranged the blanket around Coco. She stared at her daughter, then looked up at Hector’s soft look. “You should go on that tour.”

Hector blinked as if coming out of a trance. “What?”

“We need to support her,” Imelda said. “And your tour is the way that you do that. You’ll be back before her first birthday, and…and maybe this one will help us enough that you don’t have to go on another one.”

Hector looked at her for a moment, then leaned in and kissed her. “You’re amazing, did you know that?”

Imelda smiled, and kissed him back. “As long as you come back to me, we can get through anything. It will take more than four months apart to break up our family, Hector.”

He smiled. “I know, _mi amor_. And you don’t have to worry about me not coming back. Nothing would ever keep me from coming back to you. And to our little Coco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my last fanfic post of the DECADE! Check back next Monday for the first post of the new year!


	9. 1919 - Part 1

When Imelda was younger, she had always imagined what life would be like when she was older. She had always imagined a calm life, that was comfortable and quiet. 

Her life now was nothing like that.

Life with a baby was anything but calm and quiet. Coco cried often, and only slept for an hour or two at a time. Imelda and Hector were nodding off at dinner or while sewing or playing guitar, only to be jerked awake by Coco’s cries again. Five months in, and it was only marginally better.

“_Mi amor_, maybe she should see a doctor,” Hector said one day after a night with only an hour of sleep. “She’s five months old and still crying and sleeping like a newborn.”

“Babies cry,” Imelda said crossly, bouncing Coco in her arms. She had calmed down to soft whimpers. “I remember when Oscar and Felipe were babies, they cried all the time too.”

“Then I can only assume your family carries some sort of hellish crying gene,” Hector said. 

Imelda glared at him. “All babies cry. Just some more than others. She may just need a nap.”

“So do you,” Hector said. “Here, let me have her.”

“Go ahead,” Imelda said, handing her off to him. “Maybe you can get her to sleep better than I can.”

Imelda sat down at the table and laid her head down as Hector took Coco to her room. She closed her eyes, until a few minutes later when she heard soft music coming from Coco’s room.

She stood up and walked to Coco’s room. Hector was kneeling on the floor with his guitar, playing for Coco, who was now quiet in her crib. Imelda leaned against the door frame and listened, a small smile on her face. 

When Hector had strummed the final chord, Imelda spoke up. “Is that a new song?”

He looked up, and nodded. “It’s a work in progress.”

“It’s good,” Imelda said. 

Hector smiled, his eyes wide. “Yeah?”

Imelda nodded. “What’s it called?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Hector shrugged, and stood up. “She’s asleep.”

Imelda closed her eyes and sighed, leaning her head against the door frame. “Finally.”

Hector came over and rubbed her arm. “Like I said earlier, you need rest, too, Imelda.”

“I need to get some work done while she’s asleep,” Imelda said, turning to go back to the sitting room. 

“No, work can wait,” Hector said, laying his guitar on the floor. He wrapped his arms around Imelda’s waist and picked her up. 

“Hector!” Imelda exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“Forcing you to take a break,” Hector said, pushing open the door to their bedroom. He put her down on the bed, and sat down next to her. 

“I don’t have the time,” Imelda said. “And you’re leaving in a week, so I’ll have even less time.”

“Just fifteen minutes, Imelda,” Hector said. “I don’t think you realize how exhausted you look.”

Imelda tried to fight against it, but she could feel herself relaxing into the mattress. She nodded and curled up into the blankets. Hector started to stand, but Imelda grabbed his hand. “Fine, but you have to wake me up, Hector. Fifteen minutes.”

“Do I need to sing you to sleep, too?” Hector said. 

Imelda sighed, and let go of his hand. “No, just remember to wake me up.”

Hector smiled, and kissed the side of her head. “Go to sleep.”

* * *

A week later, the train station was full of people, and Imelda kept her hand wrapped around the back of Coco’s head, protecting her from the sea of jostling elbows and shoulders. 

“It’s only six months, right?” Imelda said, bouncing Coco in her arms. Ernesto was at the ticket booth, buying the tickets to their first stop.

“I’ll be back before Coco’s birthday,” Hector said, holding Imelda close. “And I’ll write you every day. Just like last time.”

“Write to Coco, too,” Imelda said. “I’ll read them to her.”

“Of course, how could I forget my little girl?” Hector said, taking her carefully from Imelda. “I’ll miss you the most every day, my little Coco!”

Coco giggled, reaching up to touch Hector’s face. Imelda laid her hand on Coco’s back and smiled at the two of them. 

Ernesto walked back over, two tickets clutched in his hand. “Train leaves in ten minutes, Hector. We need to get going.”

Hector sighed. “Yes, I guess we should.”

He handed Coco back to Imelda, and pulled her in for a kiss.

"Hector," Ernesto said again. "The train is going to leave."

Hector stepped back with a sigh. 

“Write me when you get there,” Imelda said. “I love you.”

“I’ll miss you every day, mi amor,” Hector said, picking up his suitcase and walking away from her. “I love you!”

Imelda waved, and watched until they entered the train car. She looked down at Coco, who was staring up at her with Hector’s big brown eyes. “Well, it looks like it’s just you and me now.”

Coco whimpered, then started to cry. Imelda sighed, and lifted her up to her shoulder to pat her back. “I agree, _mija_.” 

They watched the train pull out of the station, and then Imelda sighed and turned to walk back home alone.

* * *

_ My little Coco, _

_ Hello, little one! I miss you so much, I hope your Mama is giving you a million kisses for me. _

_ We are in Toluca tonight before going on to Mexico City in the morning. It is so colorful here, you would love it, mi querida. _

_ I am still working on your song every night, even though I’m not there to sing it to you. I’m sending the newest version to your Mama, so maybe she will sing it with you tonight in my place. (Please?) _

_ Your Papa used to live near Mexico City, did you know that? To be honest, I’m not sure your Mama knows that, either. It was a long time ago, but it’s surprising what I remember being back here. _

_ I have to go now, but I will write you again from Mexico City! I miss you so much, Coco, and I will be back with you in just a few months. _

_ Love, _

_ Papa _

Imelda smiled as she finished reading the letter to Coco, bouncing her as they paced around the kitchen. Four months had passed, and Hector hadn’t missed a weekly letter to Coco yet. It wasn’t long, but Imelda hadn’t expected it to be when she saw Coco’s name at the top. Hector always put more time into the songs he sent to Coco than the letters he sent along with them. 

She picked the second sheet of paper up off the table. It was the song she had heard him sing to Coco, about the sixteenth version that he had sent. This one was simpler, with less lines and softer melody. Imelda hummed the notes as she took ten-month-old Coco down the hallway to bed.

She changed her quickly, then laid her down in her crib. Imelda knelt down by the crib and when Coco began to whimper, she reached through the bars and let Coco grip her finger. 

“Shh, _mija_,” Imelda whispered. She looked down at the paper, and started to sing the words. Coco grew quiet, then her grip started to loosen. By the time Imelda finished the song, Coco was sleeping soundly, her little chest rising and falling with deep breaths. 

Imelda stood, smiling softly, and left the room.

* * *

Three months later, Imelda felt like she and Coco had fallen into a routine. Coco was getting bigger every day, and had started to crawl. She didn’t like to stay inside, so Imelda had started taking her out every day to walk around the market with Sofia.

“She’s so cute, Imelda,” Sofia said. “Almost makes me want to have one.”

Imelda laughed. “You need someone to court you first, Sofia.”

“Believe me, I’m trying,” Sofia said. 

Imelda picked up an orange to put it in her basket, and she opened her mouth to respond to Sofia. She stopped when she noticed two women whispering and casting glances at her. 

“Sofia,” Imelda said. “What do you think those women are talking about?”

Sofia glanced over, then looked down sheepishly. “Probably some boring family drama. Do you think these are ripe?”

“Sofia,” Imelda said sharply. “Are people talking about me?”

Sofia shrugged her shoulders. “There may have been a few whispers.”

“About what?” Imelda said. 

“Well, Hector’s been gone longer than he was last time,” Sofia said. “They didn’t start talking until a couple of weeks ago.”

“Isn’t that an old rumor by now?” Imelda said. “Everyone saw him come back last time.”

“That was last time,” Sofia said. “And you haven’t been out as much as you were last time-”

“I have a baby!” Imelda exclaimed, a little too loudly. The whispering women went silent. 

“I know, and it makes sense to me,” Sofia said. “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. Or, what my mama heard.”

Imelda paid for her basket, and grabbed Sofia’s arm and pulled her away from the market. They walked down the path toward Imelda’s house, and Imelda shook her head. “I don’t understand why the people in this town are still talking about Hector and I like we’re a new topic.”

“They want to gossip, Imelda,” Sofia said. “And your family is very popular, so you’re an easy target.”

“I’ve been with Hector for four years, and married to him for a year,” Imelda said. “Aren't they bored by now?”

“Why don’t you go with Hector next time?” Sofia said. “Give yourself a break from all this, and give people a break from their talking.”

Imelda sighed. “He asked me to go on this one, but I didn’t think I should with Coco.”

“What about next time?” Sofia said.

“I’m hoping there’s not a next time,” Imelda said. “It’s just too hard having him gone. It’s too hard to keep up with everything that needs done, and having the money to do it all. I need him here.”

“But they love it,” Sofia said. “You can see that.”

Imelda looked at her. “I know. I’m seeing their show the night they come back here. He asked me to, and I love hearing him play.”

A moment passed, and Sofia slowly said, “But?”

“I’m worried I won’t like what I see,” Imelda said. “He’s been around Ernesto longer than me, so I don’t know for sure, but it feels like something’s changed between them.”

“They’re getting more popular,” Sofia said. “I’m sure that’s changed their relationship a bit.”

Imelda shook her head. “No, this feels...worse than that. Hector makes decisions now without talking to me, and he spends more time out with Ernesto. Like this tour. He and Ernesto decided to go on it before asking me what I thought about it. I’m worried that if it came down to it, and if I made him, he would choose Ernesto over me.”

“Imelda, that would never happen,” Sofia said. 

“Are you sure?” Imelda said. “You saw their show in Tule last time. Did it seem different to you?”

Sofia was quiet for a moment, then said softly. “It felt like Hector was more in the background. I mean, it’s pretty obvious who the star is, and it’s pretty obvious who the better musician is. And it’s not the same person.”

“I don’t think Hector realizes it,” Imelda said. “And I’m worried that even if he does, he’ll choose touring over us.”

“Do you think he has to choose?” Sofia said. “I’m sure once they’re established, they could make their tours and home life a little more evenly balanced.”

“I want him here. It’s better for all of us if he’s here,” Imelda said. “But I won’t make him choose. Not yet.”

Sofia nodded, but didn’t say anything until she said goodbye to Imelda at the intersection in town. Imelda looked down at Coco as they approached the house, and kissed the top of her head. She was uneasy, her shoulders tight from the tension of hearing those women talk and her conversation with Sofia. She was telling Sofia the truth, though. She wasn’t going to make Hector choose between her and his music. 

_ At least _ , she thought as she unlocked the door with a slightly shaky hand. _ Not unless I have to _. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my (three weeks late) first post of 2020! Sorry for the long wait, writer's block hit me HARD with this one. 
> 
> Come back next Monday for chapter 10!


	10. 1919 - Part 2

Imelda felt like the months inched by with the pace of a snail. Her days were simple, never-changing. She woke up at around seven with Coco, and then spent the day running errands, visiting with Sofia, and sewing clothes while Coco napped. It was easy once they fell into a routine, but Imelda wanted to cry every time she put Coco to bed and walked to her empty bed at the end of the hall.

Months passed like that until finally,  _ finally _ it was time for Hector to come home.

“You’re happy today,” Sofia said when she walked in the house that morning. “And you look amazing, what’s the occasion?”

Imelda self-consciously ran a hand over her hair. She had braided it down her back, but left a few soft curls hanging by her face. She wore a light green dress with white lace trimmed around the neckline. Coco wore a dress made of the remaining white lace.

“Hector gets back today,” Imelda said. “I haven’t had much of an excuse to dress up in the past six months.”

“I’ve asked you to go dance with me in the plaza a bunch of times, Imelda,” Sofia said. “You could have dressed up and went with me.”

“And leave Coco by herself?” Imelda said. 

Sofia frowned, then sighed. “Fine. When does he get back?”

“I think around two,” Imelda said. “I’m just cleaning up around here until then.”

Sofia looked around the little house, with its clean furniture and floors. “Imelda, your house is immaculate.”

“I need something to do,” Imelda said. “Or I’ll end up at the train station three hours early.”

Sofia laughed. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

“Exactly, because I’ll be here, cleaning,” Imelda said. 

Sofia shook her head, then took a step back. “I don’t think you’ll be cleaning for very long.”

Imelda put down the rag in her hand and put her hands on her hips. “Sofia, what are you-”

She was cut off by a pair of hands on her waist, spinning her around. She gasped in surprise, hand raised to fight off her attacker, until she saw Hector’s smiling face. “Did you miss me?”

“Hector!” Imelda exclaimed and threw her arms around his neck. “What are you doing here?”

“We took an early train,” Hector said. “I planned it with Sofia a few weeks ago. She met me at the station fifteen minutes ago.”

Imelda whipped around to look at Sofia. Sofia shrugged. “I told you that you wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning.”

Imelda laughed, then turned back to Hector. “I missed you so much.”

Hector pulled her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “I missed you too, _mi amor_.”

“Coco missed you too,” Imelda said, pulling back. 

“Where is she?” Hector said, looking around the kitchen.

“She’s in her room,” Imelda said. “I put her down for a nap, so knowing her, she’s probably wide awake.” 

Hector smiled broadly, kissed her, and then went down the hallway. He returned in a moment, holding Coco.

“She’s so big now,” Hector said. 

“Well, she is almost a year old,” Imelda said. “Only a few weeks until her birthday.”

“And we should have a celebration,” Hector said, tossing Coco up in the air. “Would you like a celebration for your birthday, _mija_?”

Imelda came up and rested her head against his arm. “I think that would be a wonderful idea. But first, let’s focus on finishing this tour, yeah?”

Hector looked at her. “You are coming tonight, right? Last show, and then I’m all yours again, _mi amor_.”

“That’s the part I’m looking forward to most,” Imelda said softly, and pulled him down to meet her for a kiss.

* * *

Imelda stood in the growing crowd, waiting for Hector and Ernesto to come onto the small stage in the plaza. She looked around at how many people had come out to see them, and turned to Sofia. “They’re more popular than I thought.”

Sofia nodded. “There were more than this in Tule.”

Imelda smiled. She couldn’t help it; as much as she wanted to be upset and keep Hector at home with her, she was proud of him. She clapped with the rest of the crowd when Ernesto and Hector came onto the stage.

The music started, a fast rhythm that was as familiar to Imelda as her own hands. Sofia grabbed her hand and pulled her into a dance, and Imelda laughed. She glanced up at the stage often, catching Hector’s eye any time she could.

As the night went on, and Sofia got tired and forgot about dancing for a while, Imelda’s smile started to fade as she noticed how often Ernesto was in the spotlight and how often Hector was not. Hector stayed toward the back, playing his guitar masterfully and singing along with Ernesto. But Ernesto was the show - he was what the people had paid to come see, and his boisterous voice was the one drawing them all in. 

By the end of the night, Imelda’s smile had drifted completely into a frown.  _ This is what he leaves for? A life in the shadows? _

They said their goodbyes on stage, and Imelda clapped along with the crowd before they began to depart. She forced a smile back onto her face as Hector came bounding up to her with his guitar case hanging on his back. 

“Did you like it, _mi amor_?” He said, taking her hand.

Imelda nodded, and said, “It was a little strange hearing Ernesto sing songs that are supposedly about me, though.”

She glanced up at him and noticed Hector’s smile falter a little. It quickly came back, and Hector said, “Well, Ernesto has the better voice, so it makes sense.”

“You have a wonderful voice, Hector,” Imelda said forcefully.

Hector waved his hand. “You know what I mean. Ernesto has a more...traditional voice.”

“That shouldn’t matter,” Imelda said.

“He and the tour manager both agreed that it would be better if he sang most of the time and I played the songs since I’m the better musician.”

Imelda stared up at him. He was talking like he was happy about it, and he was smiling, but there was something behind his smile. Sadness, maybe? Wistfulness?

Imelda forced a smile back on her face. “Well, I’d still rather have you sing them to me.”

They stopped walking and Hector spun her to face him. He lifted her face, and smiled widely at her. “I think that can be arranged when we get back home.”

Imelda kissed him, and then took his hand and pulled him toward home

* * *

_A birthday party really had been a wonderful idea_, Imelda thought. _If only it wasn’t so much _ work .

For the next two weeks, Imelda was busy with something for Coco’s birthday. Inviting people, sewing Coco a new outfit, buying ingredients and decorations, it was never-ending. 

Hector was busy as well, but his busyness made Imelda nervous. He was gone often, working with Ernesto on new songs. He was up writing in the middle of the night, or he had his notebook out during meal times writing. Imelda often looked over at him to find him lost in thought with a troubled look on his face, but it disappeared quickly when he noticed her looking. Imelda ignored it, never asked him about it. It would be too much to cause an argument now with Coco’s birthday so close.

The day of the party arrived, and for once Imelda felt calm about the whole event. She and Hector had decorated last night, so the house was ready. All that was left was to cook.

It felt like she cooked for  _ hours _ . So much food for such a little baby’s birthday. Hector came in once to ask her if she needed help, but backed off quickly at the look on her face. He retreated into the sitting room with his guitar and plucked out soft melodies while she cooked.

By the time the few guests arrived, Imelda was setting the final plate on their dining table. Sofia and her mother gave her a hug, and Ernesto nodded politely to her as he went and started talking to Hector. Imelda frowned slightly as Hector’s face tensed for a moment. 

“What are you looking so sour about?” Sofia asked. She followed Imelda’s gaze to Ernesto and Hector. “They’re just talking, Imelda.”

“I know,” Imelda said. “But I have a feeling that I won’t like whatever they’re talking about.”

Sofia smiled, then touched Imelda’s arm. “Leave it alone for today, Imelda. It’s a happy day, let’s keep it that way.”

Imelda sighed, then nodded. “Let’s go get Coco.”

After they brought Coco out, all dressed up in her new dress, Imelda really did forget about the look on Hector’s face and the conversation. They all mingled together, laughing and chatting, and watching Coco open gifts that she had gotten. Besides the blanket and new outfit that she had received earlier in the day from Hector and Imelda, she opened a few new clothes from Sofia and Senora Hernandez and a little set of wooden toys from Ernesto. The wooden toys included a set of maracas, which Coco was all too delighted to shake wildly and bang on the floor. 

They settled in for dinner, and Sofia volunteered quickly to feed Coco, who was giggling and also refused to relinquish one of the little wooden balls clenched in her tiny fist. Imelda smiled and laughed, not really paying attention until she heard Senora Hernandez ask Ernesto the question she had been dreading the past few months. 

“So how is the music career going for you boys?”

Hector didn’t answer, but Ernesto swallowed the mouthful of food he had and smiled. “Really well, Senora. We’re planning our next tour right now, and we’re hoping to be ready to go by next month.”

Imelda’s head shot up, and she dropped her fork to her plate. Hector met her eyes, then looked away sheepishly. She stood up abruptly, and everyone looked up at her. 

“I’ll take these plates into the kitchen,” Imelda said, picking up all of the empty plates.

She walked into the kitchen and dropped the plates in the sink. She leaned against the counter, shutting her eyes and bracing her arms against the counter. 

She heard footsteps behind her, then Hector’s voice. “Imelda-”

She held up her hand. “Don’t, Hector.”

“Imelda, it’s just one more tour. Six months,” Hector said. 

“It was one more tour the last time, Hector,” Imelda said. “It’s even worse this time because you didn’t even tell me. I have to hear about it from Ernesto!”

“I was going to tell you,” Hector said. “Soon.”

“When?” Imelda said, finally turning around. “The day before you leave? The day of?”

“As soon as everything was certain,” Hector said. “Ernesto is still sorting out the details.”

“There aren’t any details to sort out because you don’t need to go,” Imelda said. 

“Imelda, can we not have this fight again?” Hector said. “It’s good for me to go.”

“You weren’t here, you don’t know how hard it was for me the last time you were gone,” Imelda said. “If it was a month, I would say go ahead. Six months is too long, Hector. There’s too much that you miss.”

“One more, Imelda,” Hector said. “It’s just one more.”

“Why?” Imelda spat. “So you can go and be Ernesto’s backup musician?”

Hector frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” Imelda said. “You are nothing but a guitar player and songwriter to him, Hector. He’s the star, not you.”

“So I shouldn’t even try because Ernesto is always going to be better than me?” Hector said. 

“No, Hector, you’re always going to be better than him,” Imelda said. “Can’t you see that? He puts you behind him because if you’re out front equal with him, then everyone would see who the better musician is.”

“He’s my best friend, Imelda,” Hector said. “We’re doing this together.”

Imelda shook her head. “I don’t know how to make you see that that’s not what I saw up on that stage.”

Hector was silent, then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Imelda squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop any potential tears from falling. Sofia came into the kitchen, and walked over to her. “Mama and I are going to go home. Let me know if you...if you need anything.”

Imelda nodded, not opening her eyes. When she heard the door shut behind Sofia, she lifted a hand to cover her eyes. Then, she heard the door open again. “I am not fighting about this anymore tonight, Hector.”

“I’m not here to fight with you, Imelda,” Ernesto said. 

Imelda pulled her hand back quickly and opened her eyes. She clenched her teeth, then said fiercely, “Then you should just leave, because I have no interest in speaking to you.”

She moved toward the door, but Ernesto was blocking it.

“I don’t see how you can be angry about this, Imelda,” Ernesto said. “He’s providing for you, isn’t he?”

“He’s providing for one of us, Ernesto,” Imelda said, gesturing between the two of them. “But it isn’t me.”

Ernesto’s smirk faltered. “What do you mean?”

“How does it feel knowing that you need Hector to go out on this tour?” Imelda said. “Because we both know that Hector’s songs and his music are the only reason you’re even offered tours. Without those, you’re nothing but a man with a guitar and a voice.”

“That’s not-”

“It is, and you know it,” Imelda said, planting her hands on her hips. “That’s why you keep him so close to you. His songs are making you famous, and we both know it.”

Ernesto was silent, then took a step toward her. “So what do you plan to do about it, Imelda?”

“I’m not going to do anything except keep telling him the truth,” Imelda said. “You’re using him, and he should be here with his family instead of out making you famous.”

“We’ll see who wins that argument, Imelda,” Ernesto said. “You’re fighting a losing battle, Imelda.”

“Get out of my house, Ernesto,” Imelda said. 

Ernesto tipped his head toward her as if he was wearing a hat, an amused smirk on his face. “Until next time, Imelda. And it was a wonderful party.”

He walked out, and Imelda shut the door harshly behind him. She leaned her back against it, then put her head in her hands and sat down on the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	11. 1919 - Part 3

Imelda stayed in the kitchen for what felt like hours until she heard Coco crying from her room. She sighed, then pushed up from the floor and walked to her room. She scooped Coco up and tried to calm her down. Coco kept crying, and Imelda closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Do you want me to try?” Hector said from the doorway.

She looked up at him and shook her head. “I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

She knew he wouldn’t though, and she heard his footsteps before his hands were under hers, taking Coco from her. He didn’t speak, but Imelda saw him glancing at her.

“Just say it,” Imelda said, crossing her arms.

“What do you want me to say?” Hector said, his voice tired. Imelda wanted to cry, wanted to hug him and tell him to get some rest. But she couldn’t.

“Go ahead and tell me you’re going on this tour, no matter what I say,” Imelda said. “Tell me that it won’t matter what I tell you, how many times I beg you to stay. Tell me that it doesn’t matter so I can stop wasting my time.”

“It does matter, Imelda,” Hector said. “But-”

“You can’t say it matters if you have to make an excuse, Hector!” Imelda exclaimed. “You’re going and it’s done, and nothing I say is going to matter.”

“You don’t understand why I’m going,” Hector said.

“Then explain it,” Imelda said.

He looked down at Coco in his arms, and sighed. “Let me put her back down to sleep and then we can talk. In the sitting room?”

Imelda agreed, and left the room. A few minutes passed, and then Hector joined her.

She waited.

“Imelda,” Hector said. “This tour is paying double what the other ones have paid us.”

“I don’t care about the money, Hector,” Imelda said.

“But I do,” Hector said earnestly. “I want to be able to give you and Coco more than we have now. You don’t understand, and I know that. You grew up with money, and you don’t understand that for me, it’s important. I’ve dreamed of having more than the bare minimum for my entire life.”

“You can make money here,” Imelda said. “Everyone in this town makes money here.”

Hector shook his head. “Not like I can out there. Out there, I can actually support you and Coco. Here, we would be struggling, even with both of us working. I can’t do it, Imelda. I can’t stay and let us struggle so much to keep our family above water, and then realize twenty years later that we missed our daughter’s life and we’re no better off than we are now.”

“So you would rather leave, make a lot of money, and miss your daughter’s life this way instead?” Imelda said.

Hector flinched. “I don’t want to miss Coco’s life. I’m trying not to.”

“No, you’re not trying,” Imelda said. “She’s been alive for a year, and so far you’ve only been around for half of it. You want to leave for six more months. By the time she’s two, you’ll only have been here for a year of her life. You’re missing her life right now, Hector, and it's like you don’t realize it.”

“I’m trying to give her a better life, Imelda,” Hector said.

“A better life for her is to have you here,” Imelda said fiercely. She sighed. “If you don’t want to be here, then that’s fine. Go out and live your musical fantasy. I’ll manage just fine on my own.”

“What?” Hector said. “Imelda, what makes you think that I don’t want to be here?”

Imelda scoffed. “You’re nineteen, Hector. You’re nineteen and married, with a child. Most men are off doing who knows what at nineteen. I can understand if you feel like you missed out on something.”

“Imelda, listen to me,” Hector said. He took her hand, and pulled her close to him. “I don’t regret a single thing about marrying you, or having Coco. I didn’t miss out on anything.”

He grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward him. Imelda resisted at first, then let herself be pulled against him. She sighed, and mumbled against his chest, “I just miss you too much when you’re gone.”

Hector gently put his hand up to her chin and turned her face up. “I promise. One more tour, and then I’m done. I’ll stay here, with you and Coco. This is where I want to be, and I promise, Imelda, I’ll act like it from now on.”

She wanted to tell him that he did act like he wanted to be here, as long as Ernesto wasn’t around. She wanted to tell him about Ernesto talking to her in the kitchen, telling her that she was holding Hector back. But she didn’t.

Instead, she smiled weakly, and leaned up to kiss him. Then, after stifling a yawn with her hand, allowed Hector to pull her toward their bedroom, ready to put this day behind her once and for all..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better one month late than never...right?
> 
> Thanks for reading, and check back soon (at least a week, no more than a month!) for the next chapter!


	12. 1919 - Part 4

Hector missed the chord again.

His fingers fumbled over the strings, causing Ernesto to abruptly stop mid-lyric. Hector mentally cursed, then said, “Sorry, let’s try it again.”

“You wrote the song, Hector,” Ernesto said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Hector couldn’t blame him; he had messed up a chord in this song five times now. “We leave in two days, this song needs to be ready.”

Hector lifted a hand in concession. “I know, I know. I guess I’m distracted today.”

“By what?” Ernesto said. Hector hesitated, and Ernesto’s face grew slightly darker. “Imelda?”

Hector nodded. “She’s not entirely happy that I’m going on this tour.”

“You need to forget about her, my friend,” Ernesto said. When he looked at Hector’s face, he quickly backtracked. “You know what I mean, Hector. We are going, aren’t we?”

“I’ve already agreed to it,” Hector said. “She just thinks I should be here more often than I’m gone.”

“And you will be,” Ernesto said. “But she needs to understand, this isn’t an overnight thing. We are so close, Hector. We can’t stop now.”

Hector nodded. “I know that, and I think she does too. But maybe we could also...take a break between this tour and the next?”

Ernesto laughed shortly. “Take a break? When we’re this close? Hector, that’s crazy.”

“I’m serious, Ernesto,” Hector said, and Ernesto stopped laughing. “Imelda’s right, partly. I am gone too often. I’ve missed Coco’s first steps, and who knows how much more I’ll miss on this tour. She’s going to keep getting older, Ernesto. And I want to be around for it.”

“You’re starting to sound like your wife,” Ernesto said with a laugh. “Like I said, you will be. But we can’t afford to take a break.”

Hector thought about it. He knew how quickly they would fade from people’s memory if they were not on tour. They didn’t have any records, didn’t have any way of making people remember them. “Let’s just get back to work, yes? I’ll try not to mess it up this time.”

* * *

The train station wasn’t busy this time of day, and Hector was glad for it.

While Ernesto was getting the tickets, Hector stood with his arms around Imelda, pressing her close to him. She hid her face against his chest, and Hector’s heart hurt. Imelda wasn’t a tearful person, but after so many years with her he knew exactly how to tell how upset she is. 

“Mi amor, please,” Hector said. “At least leave me with something happy to remember.”

She looked up at him and forced a smile, but her eyes were still sad. “You better write to me every day. Keep me on your mind.”

Hector laughed, then kissed her. “Mi amor, you’re never off my mind.”

She leaned farther into him, and Hector sighed. He could almost,  _ almost _ change his mind and walk back home instead of onto the train.

Almost. 

Ernesto came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Five minutes until we leave, we should probably get on the train.”

Imelda took a step back, and folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes were dark. “I need to go pick up Coco from Sofia’s.”

“Right,” Hector said. He ignored Ernesto’s impatient wave, and placed his hands on Imelda’s hips. He pulled her close again, and kissed her. He felt her relax until her hands rested against his chest. He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you. I’ll miss you every day.”

“I love you, too,” Imelda said. “You better hurry back.”

“Six months will feel like nothing,” Hector said. 

She hesitated, then nodded. He kissed her one more time, then watched her turn and walk out of the train station.

Ernesto sighed impatiently. “Let’s go, Hector. We don’t want to miss our first show.”

Hector turned, dragging his eyes away from the exit where Imelda had just been. “Right.”

He followed, and got settled into the seat. He turned his face toward the window and watched Santa Cecelia into the background.

* * *

Their first show went perfectly.

Hector played the right chords, and he felt like he and Ernesto were perfectly in sync. The old songs were hits, and the new songs had the audience cheering. At the end, he watched Ernesto take his bow, and then pull Hector up with him. They bowed together, smiling broadly. 

Ernesto went out after the show, as he normally did. Hector sat on his creaky inn bed and quietly strummed his guitar. He was plucking out chords to a new song, but it was becoming a melancholy tune about missing things and he was getting tired of it. He pulled his songbook toward him and turned the pages quickly to the song that he would normally be singing to his daughter at this time. He strummed the chords and quietly hummed the song.

There was a commotion outside, and the door creaked open. Ernesto spilled into the room with two girls in tow. He must have picked them up at whatever bar or party he had ended up in. They looked disheveled, with their dark hair falling out of updos and over their shoulders. One of the women wore a dress that was slipping off of her shoulder.

The room stank of tequila suddenly, and Hector coughed. Ernesto looked over at him and smiled broadly.

“Hector!” Ernesto said loudly. “I was wondering where you slipped off to.”

“I’ve been here, like I am every night, Ernesto,” Hector said, his jaw on edge. 

“Well, my friend, I’ve brought a couple of new friends for us to entertain tonight if you’re interested,” Ernesto said, while one woman clung to his arm. 

Hector tensed. “I don’t think my wife would be too happy if I did that. I’m not interested.”

“I told you, you need to forget about her for a while,” Ernesto said. He looked at Hector for a moment, and then shrugged. “It’s your choice.”

Ernesto turned his attention to the woman clinging to his side, and Hector rolled his eyes and picked up his guitar and songbook. 

“I’ll be outside,” he said to no one in particular and left the room. 

Once he was outside, he took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. Night had fallen, and the stars weren’t quite as bright here as they were in Santa Cecilia. He sat down against the wall and closed his eyes, imagining a scene entirely different than the one actually in front of him.

He could feel a soft warm breeze on his skin, despite the chill of the November air. Instead of concrete, he was laying against soft grass. He could hear Imelda’s laugh, clear as a church bell. He had to admit, out of all his objects of worship, she beat them all by miles.

He remembered this day, at least two or three years ago. He had been sixteen, Imelda seventeen, and it had been the day she gifted him with the songbook. He remembered touching that soft red leather, and thinking it was the best gift he had ever received. At least, compared to the girl laying beside him.

He had written “Un Poco Loco” that day, and it had been the first song he wrote down in the songbook. 

He hadn’t written a single song during this tour.

He opened his eyes, and sighed. Then, keeping the memory of that day close, he ignored where he was and started writing a new song.

A song about coming home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one was a little plot-less, but I promise we'll get back on track next chapter. A Hector POV chapter felt necessary at this point in the story!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. 1920 - Part 1

Hector leaned back in the train seat and gazed out the window as it slowly pulled out of the station. They were pulling out of Puebla, and heading to Mexico City. It was one of the last stops on this tour, and he couldn’t help but remember pulling out of the Santa Cecelia station nearly six months ago. Imelda smiling sadly and lifting up Coco’s hand to wave until they disappeared from sight in the window.

Hector missed them so much that it made his chest hurt. 

Ernesto slept across from him, snoring occasionally. Hector frowned. 

Most of his nights on the tour had been spent by himself as Ernesto found other places to be and more people to entertain. Usually Hector craved the alone time; it gave him the perfect time to write new songs. But now, every time he tried to put his pencil to paper and write, no words came to him. No melody came, no music at all.

He missed home.

But now, there was only a week left until he would be back. Back where he really needed to be. 

Home.

* * *

Imelda brushed her hair back from her eyes and pulled the comb through Coco’s hair. Her hair was getting longer every day, and it tangled within seconds. Sofia sat beside her, watching.

“You know, you could just cut it until she’s older,” Sofia said when Imelda sat back with exasperation.

“I’ve thought about it. But then I can’t bring myself to do it.,” Imelda sighed, then put a hand on Coco’s shoulder. “Sit still, Coco.”

“I’ve seen Coc with her hair much messier than it looks now,” Sofia said. “Would this frustration have anything to do with the fact that Hector gets back today?”

Imelda’s hands stilled. She looked down, then put the comb aside and tied off the final braid. She pushed Coco’s back gently and smiled. “All done. You can do play now.”

Coco toddled off to the corner to play with her toys laying there. Sofia didn’t say anything, but Imelda could feel the question waiting in the air between them.

“I’m nervous about him coming back,” Imelda said.

“Why?” Sofia asked. “I thought you would be excited.”

“We...weren’t in a great place when we left,” Imelda said. “And it feels like every time he’s here, he’s just passing through until he leaves again.”

“He’s a musician, Imelda,” Sofia said. “I think all musicians are like that. They pass through one place on the way to the next.”

“I shouldn’t have to live like that,” Imelda said, standing up. “I shouldn’t have to be stuck waiting here for him to come back for two months and then be stuck waiting. Sometimes I almost wish-”

She stopped herself, but Sofia noticed quickly. “You almost wish what?”

Imelda sighed, and turned away. Her face was flushed. “I almost wish that I hadn’t married him, because back then at least I saw him every day. When I was living with my parents, I got to see him, and touch him, and kiss him every day. And now I only get to see him for two or three months out of the year?”

Sofia looked at her. “Imelda-”

“I can’t do it anymore, Sofia,” Imelda said, a waver in her voice. She brushed at her eyes, wiping away any tears. “I thought I could, and I told him that I could live with this. But I can’t, and...I’m scared to tell him that.”

“Why are you scared to tell him that?” Sofia said. “He’ll understand.”

“Because I’m worried that it won’t be enough!” Imelda said, turning back around to face her. “I’m worried that if I tell him all of that, tell him everything that I’m feeling...that he’ll still choose it. If I make him choose, I’m worried that he won’t choose me.”

Sofia rushed over and threw her arms around Imelda. Imelda clutched her tightly. “He’ll choose you, Imelda. I know he will.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Imelda said.

“There’s only one way that you can find out,” Sofia said. “You have to tell him.”

* * *

When the train pulled into the Santa Cecilia station, Hector bolted off the train before Ernesto was fully awake. He looked around until he saw a swish of black curls over a purple-covered shoulder. His face stretched into a smile and he called out her name.

Imelda looked up and smiled softly, and started toward him. He ran over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, picking her up from the ground. He kissed her, and rested his forehead against hers. “I missed you so much,  _ mi amor _ .”

Imelda blinked rapidly, then smiled again. “I missed you more.”

“Not possible,” he said, then kissed her again. 

Imelda took a step back, and he watched as the smile slowly fell from her face. “We need to talk about something.”

“I have something I need to tell you first,” Hector said, taking her hands.

She snatched one of her hands back and pointed at him fiercely. “I swear, Hector Rivera, if you tell me you’ve already planned another tour, I will-”

“No!” Hector said. “No, no, no, nothing like that. I told Ernesto that I wanted a break from touring.”

Imelda’s hands went limp in his. She took another step back. “You...what?”

“This tour...it was awful for me, Imelda,” Hector said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said, and I just felt stuck. So I told Ernesto that I need a break. At least a year.” 

Imelda stood for a second, her face blank. Then, she smiled, a dazzling brilliant smile that lit up the entire station. “A year? You mean, a year where you’re just here with me? With us?”

Hector laughed. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I’ll have to get a job, of course, so I won’t be  _ just _ with you.”

She batted him playfully. “You know what I mean. Hector, that’s amazing!”

“Ernesto doesn’t think so,” Hector said, frowning slightly. “He thinks the world will forget about us if we’re not constantly on tour.”

“Ernesto doesn’t know anything,” Imelda said. “And I don’t care that he’s close enough now to hear me.”

Hector turned and saw Ernesto standing a couple of feet away. He tried to stifle a laugh at his expression.

“It’s always such a pleasure to see you, Imelda,” Ernesto said sourly. 

Imelda didn’t answer, but squeezed Hector’s hand. “Can we go home now? Coco is dying to see her papa.”

Hector smiled even wider, and nodded. “Yes, please. Let’s go home.”


	14. 1920-1921

The first few months with Hector back were the best months that Imelda could remember in their marriage. 

Their house felt alive again, and Coco was inseparable from her father. They sang and danced, and Hector wrote music and played it for them again. 

Everything was finally perfect.

Then why did she feel so uneasy?

She admitted, there were good days. There were  _ wonderful _ days. Days when she lean against him and listen to him sing, and Coco would bounce around their feet, doing her best to dance. Days when she couldn’t imagine him ever wanting to leave again. 

But then there were the other days.

There were the days when he would come back from one of his odd jobs, making deliveries or tending gardens for the people in town, utterly exhausted. He would paint a smile on his face, but Imelda could see the  _ wanting _ in his eyes. He wanted so much more than that job, and those days she wasn’t sure what he wanted more. Did he want their family together, or did he want the music and the applause? 

The music was still there, of course. Imelda loved those moments with Hector possibly more than anything else. Dancing with him as he sang one of his new songs, or standing in the doorway and listening to him and Coco sing their song. The quiet moments too, when he would be absentmindedly strumming through a new song and she would wrap her arms around him, her hands on his chest, and softly sing the words he had written. 

She loved having him here, and Coco did too. She loved the music he brought with him, and she tried and tried to think of something-anything-that would keep him here longer. 

Then, the idea she had been thinking of for weeks, maybe months, reappeared in her mind. 

She was thinking about it in one of those quiet moments with Hector when he abruptly stopped strumming. She rested her chin on his shoulder and turned her head slightly to look at him. He had a slight frown on his face. 

“What are you thinking?” Imelda said. 

“This song isn’t quite right,” Hector said. “Something about it isn’t fitting together.”

“I thought it was wonderful,” she said. “What is it about?”

“I don’t know yet,” he told her. “It’s supposed to be about here, about Santa Cecilia. That’s why I want to get it right.”

She thought about it for a second, then stayed silent. She wasn’t a songwriter, or a musician. She didn’t have any advice to give. 

Hector took a deep breath, then smiled, reached up, and squeezed her hand. “It’s not that important.”

He turned, so that he held Imelda against his chest. He leaned in, and kissed her deeply, then pulled back. “So what are you thinking, mi amor? You have this look on your face.”

“I’m thinking that I want to tell you something,” Imelda said. “But I don’t know how you’ll react.”

“I think I’ve heard almost those exact words from you before,” Hector said, playing with a piece of her hair. “Almost three years ago.”

He looked at her, curiosity sparking in his eyes, but she shook her head. “No, I’m not pregnant again.”

Hector exhaled, then smiled. “Then, what do you want to tell me?”

“I’m not pregnant again,” Imelda said. “But I was thinking that maybe...I might want to be.”

Hector stilled, letting her hair fall out of his fingers. “Really?”

“I know Coco wasn’t...expected,” Imelda said. “And it took a lot of adjusting to having a baby. But she’s getting older, and I would like to have another child at some point and I just thought...maybe now is a good time.”

She didn’t look at him, but she clutched his shirt a little tighter in her hand. 

“Imelda,” Hector said, and she could tell from his voice what his answer was going to be. Her heart sank a little.

She loosened her grip and slid an inch or two away from him. “Never mind, forget I said anything.”

“I’m not saying no,” Hector said, pulling her towards him again. “I’m a little surprised, though.”

“Like I said, you can forget I said it,” Imelda said. 

“Imelda, will you at least look at me?” Hector said. She thought about just turning away and going to bed, but she reluctantly lifted her head. He was frowning slightly again, but this time it was a sad smile. “I’m not saying no. But...I don’t know if now is a good time.”

“Why not?” Imelda demanded. She was surprised by how forceful her voice came out, and Hector’s eyes widened in surprise as well. “We have a house, we have jobs, we have money, which is a lot more than we had when we had Coco.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about Imelda,” Hector said. “You know this break isn’t permanent?”

Imelda’s eyes burned, a definite precursor to tears she didn’t want Hector to see. “I know.”

“I don’t want to agree to this and then have to leave like I did last time,” he said. 

Imelda wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to leave, but that was a different battle she wasn’t willing to fight tonight. “I do want another child, Hector. I wasn’t just saying that.”

“I know, and I do, too,” Hector said. “But not right now. When I’m done touring, or when our career can handle a two or three year break between tours, we can think about it.”

Imelda wanted to fight, wanted to ask him when that would be. She wanted to cry because he wasn’t listening to her. 

Because he had reminded her he wouldn’t be staying.

Instead, she smiled sadly, then nodded. “You’re probably right. We can think about it after the next tour.”

_ Hopefully the last tour, _ Imelda thought as she leaned into him once again.

* * *

The summer heat was sweltering, and Imelda couldn’t take it anymore.

“We should go down to the river,” she told Hector after flinging the last window in their house open. “Like we used to. Let Coco splash around and cool off.”

“I have to get this song done,” Hector mumbled, his attention focused on the book in front of him. 

“Hector,” Imelda said. “You’ve been focused on that song for the past three weeks. Let’s go have some fun, maybe that will spark something in your mind.”

Hector was silent for a minute, then he smiled and nodded. 

They walked down to the small stream outside of town, not far from where the road met the walkway to Imelda’s family’s home. There were a couple of other people, couples and families who had come down to the water to escape the suffocating heat.

Hector visibly brightened as they got closer, and by the time they were there, he practically ran with Coco down to the water. Imelda settled onto a nearby rock and watched Hector dip Coco’s feet into the water. She kicked the water, and Hector laughed when the water splashed against his legs. 

Imelda watched them until Hector looked up and smiled at her. He waved his hand, trying to get her to come to water. Imelda shook her head. Sitting by the water was cool enough; she didn’t see any reason to get her clothes wet like they were.

She could see that resisting wasn’t going to matter, though, when Hector walked up to her, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Hector, don’t you-” Imelda said, but her words got cut off when Hector scooped her up and carried her off over his shoulder. “Put me down!”

“It was your idea to come down here,” Hector said, laughing. “It’s only fair that you get in the water, too.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Imelda said, kicking her feet and laughing, “I am not dressed for a swim.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,  _ mi amor _ ,” Hector said, putting her down right into the water, soaking the bottom of her skirt. “I don’t care.”

She stood speechless for a moment as the chill of the water seeped into her skin. Then, she smiled and bent down. She scooped the water with her hand and splashed the freezing cold water all over Hector. His shirt became speckled with large water droplets, while the bottom of it became soaked through, sticking to his skin. 

Hector turned toward her and in a quick move, splashed water all over her. His height gave him an advantage; the water splattered all over Imelda’s torso, face, and hair. 

They went back and forth until they were interrupted by Coco’s laughter and a louder splash; Coco had been laughing so hard at them that she fell back into the water. The surprising chill of the water stunned her and she started to cry.

After that, they decided that it was time to walk back home, and Imelda leaned slightly against Hector as they walked. He held Imelda’s hand in his right, and held Coco who had nodded off to sleep against his shoulder in his left arm.

“Do you think you can finish your song now?” Imelda asked.

“Yes, I’m going to write it about almost three-year-olds who love water until they fall in it and decide to scream about it instead,” Hector said, laughing. “I’m sure it will be a hit.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Imelda said.

Hector sighed. “How do you know?” 

Imelda looked up at him, and saw the faraway look in his eyes. She frowned slightly, then nudged him with her elbow. “Because I know you, and I know that you’ll do whatever you need to to finish that song. And then you’ll do the same for whatever one comes after that. That’s what you do, Hector.”

Hector didn’t respond, but he squeezed her hand. 

And for now, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	15. 1921

Imelda should have known it was too good to last.

Everything stayed the way it had been until just after Coco’s third birthday. They had decided a small celebration was best, with just the three of them at home. They had danced together and sang together, and it was wonderful. 

Then it all started to change.

Hector was gone more often, and not just to work. He and Ernesto were meeting up again, and meeting up for longer periods of time working on music. Every night, Hector came back home frustrated and complaining about their lack of progress.

“It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write songs,” Hector said one night after shutting his songbook forcefully. 

Imelda was getting nervous, and often sat by the window, tapping her fingers against the windowsill and waiting for Hector to come home.

Still, he never missed the time he was supposed to sing to Coco every night.

Ernesto came by for dinner on the nights when their songwriting couldn’t take a break. Imelda spent those meals with her teeth on edge, keeping her focus on Coco. Tonight was one of those dinners, but something about it felt...different.

Hector kept fidgeting through the whole meal, not really eating anything that was on his plate. Imelda kept glancing at him, unsure of what to say. Ernesto sat almost jovially at the end of the table, sometimes looking back and forth between Hector and Imelda.

At the end of the meal, Imelda cleared the plates from the table and sent Coco off to play. As she walked the plates to the kitchen, she heard Ernesto mumble something to Hector, and she sat the plates down with a clatter.

“If you have something to tell me, then say it,” Imelda said sharply, putting her hands on her hips.

Hector looked up at her, then looked away again. He cleared his throat. “We had a visit from our tour manager the other day.”

Imelda narrowed her eyes. “And?”

“We have our next tour scheduled,” Hector said. “And we leave next month.”

Imelda stared at both of them: Hector sat almost expressionless, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. Ernesto sat with a smirk on his lips.

Imelda chose to ignore him for the moment, and focused on Hector. “So you lied to me.”

“I didn’t-” Hector started.

“You told me a year,” she said, her voice icy. “Or does time work differently for you? You tell me a year and I get seven months?”

Ernesto stood. “Imelda-”

“You,” she said, turning and pointing at him. “Get out of my house. This doesn’t concern you.”

“I think it does,” Ernesto said.

Imelda glared at him. “No, it damn well doesn’t. Get. Out.”

Ernesto stood for a moment, then seemed to decide that the fight wasn’t worth it. He took a deep breath, and then nodded. “Remember our meeting tomorrow, Hector.”

He strode out the door, and Imelda turned back to Hector.

“Imelda, let me explain,” Hector said. “I did plan on taking a break for a year.”

“Then why are you leaving?” Imelda said, trying to keep her voice steady.

She was so  _ tired _ .

“I was planning on taking a break for a year,” he repeated. “Then, I stopped being able to write good songs. And then Ernesto told me the tour manager wanted to meet with us about the tour, and...well, the terms are very good this time.”

“The terms?” Imelda repeated. “You mean the pay?”

“The pay,” Hector nodded. “And the places. We’re playing in some cities we’ve never been to before. New experiences equal better songs, you know that.”

He still wasn’t looking at her. Imelda stared at him. “Tell me whatever you’re trying to avoid, Hector.”

He took a deep breath. “Like I said, the terms are great. Except for one.”

“Which one?” Imelda said.

“This tour is a year long,” Hector said.

Imelda didn’t react. She felt like she was glued to the floor, her body and face frozen. 

“It really won’t be anything, Imelda,” Hector said. “These longer tours are actually good, because it means we’ll be home longer in between them.”

“A year?” Imelda said. “Are you serious, Hector?”

Hector glanced at her, and then nodded. “It’s a tour of almost the whole country, Imelda.”

“No,” Imelda said.

“What?” Hector responded, looking at her with wide eyes.

“I’m saying no,” Imelda said. “I was fine when it was a month here and there, Hector, but I’m not fine with you being gone for months on end and only being here with us for a month or two at most. It’s not fair to Coco, it’s not fair to me, and I don’t understand why you would rather be out there instead of here with us.”

“You’re the one who said music was my future. That music was  _ our _ future, and now you’re saying I have to stay here,” Hector said. “When did that change?”

“Maybe I was wrong,” Imelda said. “How can it be our future when we’re left behind every single time?”

“Imelda, I’m doing what’s best for our family,” Hector said. “Why can’t you see that?”

“Because I am tired of everyone else telling me what is best for me,” Imelda cried. “I know what’s best for me, and my husband being gone for months on end is not it.”

“This tour could change our lives, Imelda. I don’t understand,” Hector snapped, finally standing. “Why is this enough for you? A tiny, dusty house with secondhand furniture, sewing dresses for extra money? I know what you came from, what you expected, and this isn’t what you really want. It can’t be. I can’t give you the life you want.”

“No, you can’t give me what you  _ think  _ I want, Hector. What I really want is for you to be here with your family,” Imelda said. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe you can’t give me that either.”

“You want so much more than that, Imelda!” Hector said. “I can tell, this isn’t enough.”

“Don’t try to tell me what I want, Hector,” Imelda snapped. “Don’t forget, I knew exactly what I was getting into. If I wanted riches and luxury, I could have married Diego Herrera. But I wanted you.”

“We could have so much more than this,” Hector said. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry at me.”

“I’m angry because you’re telling me that we’re not enough for you, Hector!” Imelda said. “I think you should be here, with your family, not galavanting around the country for a year pretending you don’t have one! You’re not-”

“I’m not what?” Hector said.

Imelda took a step back. “I was going to say you’re not a young bachelor who can do whatever he wants whenever he wants. But really, you are.”

“I don’t pretend that I’m a bachelor when I’m out on tour, Imelda,” Hector said angrily. “You’ve read my letters. I think about you and Coco every day when I’m gone.”

““But it’s not enough anymore. Letters are not enough. It’s not enough for you to just  _ think  _ about us, when you’re not the one that has to suffer through you being gone!” Imelda said. “You can do whatever you want whenever you want, because even if it’s your fault, I’ll be the one that pays for it. I’ll be the one that gets gossiped about, the one that people whisper about in the market. But you and Ernesto, you get to be the Santa Cecilia poster boys. You’ll be the ones that made it, that actually get famous.”

“I’m not Ernesto, Imelda,” Hector said. “I don’t need the fame, I don’t need to be Santa Cecilia’s poster boy. All I want is to give you and Coco what you deserve, and what I thought you wanted.”

“You mean what you want,” Imelda said. 

“I told you, a year will feel like nothing,” Hector said, trying to make his voice calm again. “And then I’ll be back, and it will be like the last few months have been.”

“Until you leave again, and then what about when it turns to a year and six months? Or two years? What happens when you come back and realize you missed most of our lives because you were out chasing fame?” 

“I’m not going for the fame, Imelda,” Hector said. “I need inspiration from something. My songs are getting worse and worse. I need to...to go out and see something different than what I see every day.”

“Including me, I suppose,” Imelda said. 

“That is not what I meant,” Hector said quickly.

“What else could it mean, Hector?” Imelda said. “You told me once that all your songs were about me, and suddenly they’re not good enough?”

Coco started crying in the other room, and Hector moved toward the door. Imelda held her hand up. “I’ll get her.”

“Imelda, I need you to understand,” Hector said, following her out of the room.

Imelda turned to him, three-year-old Coco now in her arms, curled up against her shoulder. “There is nothing for me to understand, Hector! You’re leaving for a year, even though I told you I’m not okay with it. That’s perfectly clear to me.”

“I’m doing it for us,” Hector said, gesturing to the three of them. 

“No,” Imelda said coldly. “You’re doing it for yourself. So go, and do what you want. Go and live your life as a bachelor for all I care. I am done trying to convince you that we deserve more than this.”

She turned, trying to soothe Coco back to sleep while fighting back tears herself. She heard the creak of the floor, and then the front door shutting. She couldn’t hold back the few tears that fell down onto the top of Coco’s braided hair.

Imelda was curled up in bed when she heard the front door open again. She heard footsteps, and then a gentle weight pressing down on the bed beside her.

“Imelda,” Hector said softly. 

Imelda considered feigning sleep, and didn’t answer. 

“ _ Mi amor _ ,” Hector said, kneeling down next to the bed. “Will you please talk to me?”

Imelda hesitated, then sat up on the bed, hair falling around her shoulders. “You walked out on me.”

“I had to go clear my head,” Hector said. Imelda wouldn’t look at him, and then he took a deep breath. “Imelda, I’m going on the tour.”

“Fine,” Imelda said shortly, forcefully fluffing the pillow behind her to lay down again. Hector gently grabbed her hand. 

“But this is going to be my last one,” he said.

Imelda looked at him. “What?”

“I talked to Ernesto. I told him that I would go on this last tour, but after that I’m done,” Hector said. “I’ll write his songs, and meet with him once or twice a year somewhere. But I told him I should be here. With you and Coco.”

“And he was alright with that?” Imelda said.

Hector nodded. “Ernesto knows that it’s...different with the two of us now. He doesn’t have any attachment here. He can come and go as he wants. But I’ve been attached to Santa Cecilia since I was fourteen. He knows that when it comes down to a choice, I’ll choose you over anything else. And I  _ will  _ choose you, Imelda. I’ve chosen you every time, and I’ll do it a thousand more times if I have to.”

Imelda lifted his chin up with her hand, and leaned down to kiss him,  ignoring the look in his eye as he said it.

That faraway look she had seen so many times before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	16. 1922

At first, everything was the same as all the other tours.

The letters came, one for her and one for Coco. They came every week, and they were long, filled with stories and sentiments about how much Hector missed them. 

Then, after a month, they got shorter. They were quickly written, and contained hasty stories about their trip. There would be a line or two at the bottom about missing them, but it always seemed to be an afterthought. 

Then they stopped coming.

At first, Imelda thought she just missed them. She flipped the two letters in the mail once, twice, three times looking for Hector’s familiar sloping handwriting. Then, she thought maybe they were getting lost. She asked her neighbors if they had received any of her mail by mistake. She asked the postman if he had seen any letters. All of them said no, with a pitying look in their eye.

Then, Imelda got angry.

Coco started asking where her letter was, every night after Imelda sang her song with her. She tried to make up excuses for her, telling her it got held up in the mail, or they were traveling and her papa hadn’t had a chance to send it yet. 

After three weeks of no letters, Imelda started writing her own. At first, they were simple, just asking him to write soon and telling him that Coco was worried about her letter not coming. Then she sent letters demanding to at least know where he was. Her last letters were filled with angry sentences that may have been scattered through with a few choice curse words for her absentee husband.

All of them went unanswered.

Imelda tried to ignore the unsettling feeling in her stomach when she thought about the missing letters, but she couldn’t help but remember how strange things had been between her and Hector before he left. He had wanted to go on this tour; she had told him no, and he had gone anyway.

Imelda knew how it looked.

“Nobody knows you’re not getting letters, Imelda,” Sofia said after Imelda mentioned the townspeople who had been whispering about her again while they were at the market. Coco stood by Imelda’s side, occasionally tugging on her hand when she got bored of standing by the fruits.

“Then tell me why they’re whispering again, Sofia,” Imelda said. 

Sofia opened her mouth, but shut it again quickly.

“Exactly,” Imelda said. 

“Imelda,” Sofia said. “Have you tried writing to Ernesto?”

Imelda nodded. “Of course I did. But he didn’t write back to me either.”

She avoided Sofia’s look, knowing what she would find in it. Imelda knew how it looked. She tried not to think about it, and she didn’t need Sofia reminding her.

“I’m going to their show in Salina Cruz,” Sofia said. Imelda looked up in surprise from the orange she had been inspecting. Sofia blushed. “Oscar sent me a letter and invited me. It’s nothing. But I could try to talk to them, or at least Hector.”

Imelda smiled. Oscar Casal was a somewhat recent development in Sofia’s life, and she was uncharacteristically shy about him. She nodded. “If you can. At least tell them to answer my letters.”

Sofia smiled and nodded. “I can definitely do that.”

“And tell Oscar that if he’s going to properly court you,” Imelda said, smirking. “He should at least do it in your hometown.”

She laughed as she dodged Sofia’s playful slap.

* * *

Imelda woke up to frantic knocking on her door almost a month later.

She walked to the door, trying to tame her hair as she prepared to scold whoever was at her door at one o’ clock in the morning.

She threw open the door without looking at the person behind it. “I hope there’s a good reason for this-”

She looked up and saw Sofia, her eyes wide. “Sofia?”

She stepped back and Sofia came in. “I just got back from Salina Cruz.”

Imelda shut the door, and turned around. “Oh? How was Oscar? Did you-”

“Imelda,” Sofia said. “Hector wasn’t there.”

“I-what?” Imelda said.

“The show happened like always,” Sofia said. “But Ernesto was by himself. Hector wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean, ‘Hector wasn’t there’?” Imelda said sharply. 

“I don’t know what happened, Imelda, but he wasn’t there,” Sofia said. “I thought maybe he was sick, so I asked someone who was at the show the night before what happened to the second performer, but they had no idea who I was talking about.”

“But...that doesn’t make any sense,” Imelda said. “If he’s not there, why isn’t he here?”

Sofia shrugged. “What if something happened to him?”

Imelda considered it, but then what felt like a pit opened in her stomach. “Or what if he left?”  
Sofia’s eyes widened again. “He wouldn’t leave, Imelda.”

“But what if he did?” Imelda said. “Things were...tense between us when he left for this tour. It seemed like he wanted to go. And I pretty much told him to.”

“Imelda,” Sofia said, grabbing her hand. “You really think Hector left you and Coco just because things got a little tense?”

Imelda fidgeted a little, twisting the ring on her left hand. She shrugged, looking down. “It was more than that, Sofia. It felt like more than that. He basically told me he felt trapped here, and I...I just told him to go if that’s what he felt like doing.”

“Hector wouldn’t leave because of that,” Sofia said. “I know him, and he wouldn’t have left like that.”

“Part of me thinks that, but part of me thinks that maybe…” Imelda trailed off, then took a deep breath. “Maybe it was too much this time.”

Sofia looked at her for a moment. “You know, the next show is here. You could talk to Ernesto. See if he can tell you anything.”

Imelda scoffed. “He won’t tell me anything.”

“You could try,” Sofia said. “I know you, and if anyone could get an answer out of Ernesto, it would be you.”

Imelda spun her ring twice more around her finger, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll try.”

Sofia smiled, and stood up. “You’ll figure it out, Imelda. You always do.”

Imelda stood with her. “Thanks for coming and telling me, even if you did wake me up for it.”

Sofia hugged her. “That’s what I’m here for. Now I need to go get some sleep.”

“I need to hear about Oscar tomorrow,” Imelda said.

Sofia blushed and laughed nervously. “Sure, Imelda. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Imelda said, shutting the door. She leaned against it after she closed it, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Sofia was right; she couldn’t imagine Hector leaving, no matter how tense things got. But that pit was still there, telling her that as much as she wanted to ignore it, she had been there. She knew what she felt.

And she definitely didn’t feel good about what she had to do next.

* * *

The plaza was crowded the day of Ernesto’s performance. 

She had left Coco with Sofia, and she was glad that she had when she saw the number of people jostling around the plaza buying tickets and claiming places to watch the show. Imelda walked through them, a few bumping into her, toward the inn on the far side of the plaza. She knocked on the door, and a thin man answered.

“Can I help you, Senora?” he asked. 

“I need to see Ernesto de la Cruz,” Imelda said. “Now.”

The man scoffed. “You and fifty other people, Senora. Senor de la Cruz isn’t taking visitors.”

“This is different,” Imelda said. “I’m an old...friend.”

“Doesn’t matter. No one gets in unless Senor de la Cruz wants them to come in.”

Imelda frowned, and crossed her arms. “Then will you please tell him that Imelda Rivera needs to speak with him. He will want to talk to me.” 

The man didn’t move.

“I’m not leaving until I speak with him, Senor,” Imelda said, straightening her spine nad looking the man directly in the eye. “And you can tell him that.”

The man looked at her, then sighed and went back inside, shutting the door. A second later, he came back out. “Senor de la Cruz will see you.”

Imelda smiled. “Thank you, Senor.”

When she walked into the room, Ernesto was standing there. “Imelda, how wonderful to see you again.”

“Where is he?” She demanded.

Ernesto stepped back, his smile faltering and then coming back. “Imelda, I don’t-”

“Hector. Where is he?” Imelda said, her hands planted on her hips. 

Ernesto’s smile contorted into a look of confusion. “Is he not here?”

“Would I be here if he was?” Imelda said, scoffing. “The last time I saw him was the morning he left with you, and that was almost a year ago.”

“Imelda...he left six months into our tour. I assumed that he came back here, but…” Ernesto said.

“Don’t lie to me, Ernesto,” Imelda said, stepping toward him. “I haven’t heard from him since two months into your tour. He wouldn’t have just up and left me. You, maybe. But not me, and not Coco.”

“I don’t know what to say. He left in Mexico City. That’s all I can tell you,” Ernesto said. “He said that he didn’t feel like he could do this anymore, and he said he felt stuck. So he left.”

Imelda’s breath caught in her chest. Mexico City. She remembered one of Hector’s letters from a long time ago, recalling when he used to live in Mexico City. “He wouldn’t.”

“Imelda,” Ernesto said. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I would tell you if I knew.”

Imelda nodded, not speaking. In her heart, she had known that this would be a dead end, but she couldn’t make herself accept that he was just...gone.

“Imelda, I’ll make sure you and Coco are taken care of, money-wise, even if Hector won’t anymore,” Ernesto said, then he fixed his smile back on his face. “I have to get ready for the show. You’re free to stay and listen, of course. As my guest.”

Imelda shook her head. “No, I don’t think I-”

She cut herself off, staring at the floor by Ernesto’s feet. 

“Imelda? Are you all right?” Ernesto asked.

“Where did you get that?” Imelda pointed at the guitar.  _ Hector’s _ guitar. The one that she had paid for in weeks of tailoring people’s clothes just so she could give Hector a real wedding present. She would know that guitar anywhere.

Ernesto looked at the floor, then back up at her. “What do you mean?”

“That guitar. Hector’s guitar. Why do you have it?” Imelda demanded. 

“Oh,” Ernesto said, glancing at it. “He gave it to me before he left.”

“No,” Imelda said fiercely. “He wouldn’t just give that guitar away.”

“He handed it to me as he walked out the door,” Ernesto said. 

“I knew my husband, Ernesto, and I know he would give up a lot of things if it made someone else happy, but not that,” Imelda said. “Never that.”

Ernesto sighed. “Imelda...I don’t think you really knew him.”

Imelda flinched, then narrowed her gaze. “Go to hell, Ernesto.”

Ernesto raised his hands. “I’m just being honest, Imelda.”

“And so am I,” Imelda spat. “Keep your money. I want nothing from you, not even your attempts at ‘honesty’, as you put it. Stay away from me, and stay away from my family.”

She turned and stormed out before he could say another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	17. 1923 - Part 1

Imelda pushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she looked at the small pile of money on the table in front of her.

It was nowhere near enough.

She pushed the money away from her and folded her arms, laying her head down on top of them. 

She  _ really  _ didn’t want to go to the bank.

The bank was one of the least-used businesses in town - there wasn’t enough money in town to make it a thriving place that people frequented. Most of the townspeople kept their money in their own homes, in safes or other secure places. Only the rich families kept their money in the bank.

Like the Diazes.

And the Herreras, the owners of the bank.

Imelda hadn’t been in the bank in nearly six years. She had avoided it when she was a teen because of her avoidance of Diego. But now, with so little money, she dreaded having to return there. This time, it would be for a loan.

Loans were the only function that the bank had for the majority of the townspeople. Loans to buy houses, loans to build houses, business loans, and general personal loans. Hector and Imelda had managed to scrape by together without having to get one of the loans that the Herreras doled out almost excitedly.

But just Imelda? The money on the table was the last of the money that Hector had sent. It wouldn’t last the next three months, even when it was supported with Imelda’s small earnings. 

She groaned, putting her head into her hands. “Damn it!”

“Mama?” Coco said, walking over and pulling on Imelda’s skirt. “Mama said a bad word?”

Imelda nodded. “Yes, mija, I did. Your mama’s a little frustrated, that’s all.”

Coco looked up at her, and Imelda glanced over at the money laying on the table. Something had to be done, and soon. 

“Coco,” Imelda said, scooping Coco up into her lap. “Do you want to go visit your Aunt Sofia?”

* * *

Imelda took a deep breath, and stepped into the bank. She tried to roll her shoulders and put on the airs of the girl she hadn’t been since she was seventeen. She had worn her best dress, trying to make it look like she belonged in the bank.

Stepping through the doors, though, she could tell that she belonged anywhere but here.

She stood for a moment, and looked toward the door. She considered walking back out, but she heard her name called out.

“Imelda?” 

Imelda shut her eyes. This was  _ the last  _ person she wanted to see today.

Possibly ever.

Diego Herrera came up to her, looking every part the bank heir that he was. Imelda didn’t smile and looked down, refusing to meet his eyes. She smoothed down a nonexistent wrinkle on her skirt. “Diego.”

“I didn’t really expect you to come here,” Diego said. “What are you doing here?”

She felt Diego’s eyes on her, and she lifted her left hand to push a piece of hair behind her ear, flashing her wedding band as she went. “I need a loan.”

The corner of Diego’s mouth turned up into a half-smirk. “Really? Why?”

“It’s just until Hector gets back,” Imelda lied smoothly. “It doesn’t need to be a big loan.”

Diego nodded. “Well, I can handle something like that. Come over to my desk.”

He turned and walked over to the desk on the far wall. Imelda hesitated, then followed. She sat down in the seat across from him. He was silent while he pulled a few sheets of paper from a drawer, then he settled back into his chair and crossed his arms.

“You know Imelda,” Diego said. “The deal between our families still stands.”

“It doesn’t with me,” Imelda said sharply. “Like I said, I’m here for a loan until Hector comes back.”

Diego laughed. “Imelda, everyone knows he’s not coming back. It will be easier for you if the people in town see you trying to move past this.”

“Move past what, exactly, Diego?” Imelda said, crossing her arms.

Diego looked at her. “This silly little marriage that you’ve gotten yourself into. It would have been easier if you had come to your senses before a child was involved, but I’m willing to look past it.”

“You don’t have to look past anything,” Imelda said. “I’m not interested. I was never interested in you, and I’ll never be interested in you. I’m here to take care of my daughter. That’s it.”

“Fine,” Diego said shortly, and slid the paper over to her. She picked up a pen. “Although it’s a shame to waste that pretty face, Imelda.”

“Will you please be quiet and let me sign the damn paper?” Imelda said. “I didn’t come here for a new husband, and I don’t want a new husband.”

“Imelda, the world isn’t kind to people like you,” Diego said. “Poor, single mothers who have to live off loans and handouts? You need a husband.”

Imelda scoffed. “I don’t  _ need  _ anybody. I didn’t  _ need  _ Hector, and he would be the first one to tell you that. I’ve been married, and I have no interest in doing it again. Especially to someone like you, Diego. You are nothing more than a child who is angry that he has to make a real decision for himself for once in his life instead of letting his parents decide every detail of his life.”

“That is-” Diego started, but Imelda cut him off.

“And I won’t be living off loans and handouts, Diego. You can keep your money,” she said, shoving the paper back toward him. “I don’t want to owe you or your family or anybody else a single thing. We’re done here.”

She stood, and ignored Diego’s calls as she walked swiftly out of the bank.

* * *

“What are you going to do?” Sofia asked. She sat up from where she was playing with Coco with a wooden toy set. Imelda sat at the dining table after telling Sofia about her time at the bank.

Imelda shrugged. “Find a job, I guess. Although, who’s going to hire me in this town, I have no idea.”

“I wish my mother could find more work for you,” Sofia said. 

“I guess I’ll ask around for odd jobs like Hector did,” Imelda said. “Someone has to need some help, right?”

Sofia nodded, but her attention was captured again by Coco, poking at her hand with a wooden horse. Imelda laughed, then let her gaze wander to a letter sitting on the edge of the table, sent from closer to the coast.

“Sofia, what’s this?” Imelda said.

Sofia looked up, and then turned red. “It’s a letter from Oscar.”

Imelda smiled. “Oh? And what did he say?”

Sofia looked away, focusing intently on the doll in her hand. “He’s asked me to marry him.”

“What?” Imelda exclaimed. “Really? Sofia, that’s so-”

“I haven’t said yes,” Sofia said. 

“Why not?” Imelda said. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s so fast,” Sofia said. “I just met him five months ago, Imelda.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Imelda said. “I was with Hector for two years before we got married and see how that’s turned out.”

Sofia’s eyes softened. “Imelda, you don’t know for sure that he’s gone.”

Imelda looked down at the table, focusing on the wood grain to keep the sudden tears at bay. “We’ll see. But Sofia, if you love Oscar, you should take the chance.”

“He’ll want me to move to the coast, Imelda,” Sofia said. “I wouldn’t be in Santa Cecilia anymore.”  
Imelda paused. “Well, we would miss you. But it’s only a three hour train ride.”

Sofia was silent for a long stretch, until Imelda stood to leave. “I still have to think about it.”

“I hope you do, Sofia,” Imelda said. “Because I think you really do love Oscar. And he really loves you.”

Sofia smiled softly, then walked them to the door. They said goodbye, and Imelda and Coco walked back home.

“Did you have fun today, Coco?” Imelda asked.

Coco nodded. “We played like we were bandits!”

“Oh, did you?” Imelda said, smiling. She ran her hand down Coco’s small braids.

“Aunt Sofia let me eat some candy!” Coco said, smiling up at her.

Imelda smiled back, but the smile was short-lived. When Coco smiled like that...she looked just like Hector. 

“Come on, let’s get home,” Imelda said. “Your mama has some job hunting to do.”

* * *

It was early in the morning when Imelda found herself at Senor Gomez’s shop. The shoemaker was the last on her list of businesses in town. 

Yesterday, all of the businesses had told her no and shut their doors in her face. She couldn’t blame them, really. If she worked there, they would lose the business of not one, but two of the richest families in town. The Diaz family and the Herrera family wouldn’t step foot in a shop that employed their disowned daughter and disgraced ex-fiancee. 

Senor Gomez had always been kind to her, and she knew her family at least bought their shoes from a shoemaker out of town. He was her last hope; she took a deep breath and knocked.

The door opened, and Senor Gomez stood with a surprised look on his face. His grey hair was already combed, and he had his apron on to go to his workshop. “Senora Rivera?”

“Good morning, Senor Gomez,” Imelda said, smiling. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early in the morning, but I needed to ask you a question.”

Senor Gomez nodded his head. “I was wondering if you were going to make your way to me today.”

“Sir?” Imelda asked.

“I saw you going around to other shops,” he said. “And word got around that you were looking for a job.”

“Oh,” she said. “Then I guess that saves me an explanation.”

Senor Gomez smiled sadly and sighed. “I wish I could help you, Senora Rivera, but I can’t.”

Imelda took a deep breath, then nodded. It was what she had heard all day yesterday. Senor Gomez excused himself and started walking down the path toward town, but then Imelda couldn’t keep her feelings inside anymore.

“Why not?” Imelda asked bluntly. 

Senor Gomez turned. “Excuse me?”

“Everyone I’ve talked to has told me the same thing,” Imelda said. “‘I wish I could help, but I can’t.’ But do you know what none of them have said?”

Senor Gomez looked uncomfortable as he asked, “What?”

“Not one of them have told me why they can’t. If they want to help me so badly, then why won’t they?” Imelda said, putting her hands on her hips.

Senor Gomez sighed. “Senora Rivera, I really do wish I could hire you. Your sewing skills are unlike anyone else’s, and I think you would make a fantastic shoemaker. But-”

“But what, Senor Gomez?” Imelda interrupted. “You just gave me what sounded like a perfect reason to hire me.”

“I might not sell another shoe if I hired you,” Senor Gomez said. 

“My family-”

“Your family are not the only people in town who think badly of you, Senora Rivera,” Senor Gomez said. “Your marriage caused quite a stir in town and left a bad taste in many people’s mouths.”

“That shouldn’t matter when it comes to a business,” Imelda said. 

“Ah, but it does,” Senor Gomez said. “I just can’t take the chance. Besides, what would people think if I had a woman working as my employee? Women in Santa Cecilia don’t take on jobs, Senora Rivera.”

“Women in Santa Cecilia have husbands,” Imelda said. “I don’t. Women in Santa Cecilia have families who will support them. I don’t. It’s just me and my daughter.”

“I know,” Senor Gomez. “That’s why I wish I could help you. But I can’t take the risk.”

“Senor Gomez,” she called as he started to walk away again. “I think the people in this town would like nothing more than to see me having to work for a living.”

“Senora-”

“Let me finish, please,” Imelda said. “Like you said, the people in this town don’t like me. They think I threw away a privileged position to live in poverty with my street rat husband, right?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Senor Gomez said. “I personally have nothing against you, and I thought Hector was a very nice young man. I was just saying-”

“That’s what the majority of the town thinks though, right?” Imelda said. Senor Gomez nodded. “Well, what better satisfaction for them than to see me right where they think I should be?”

Senor Gomez thought for a moment. 

“I don’t even have to make shoes, Senor Gomez,” Imelda said, even as that small piece of her that was still prideful begged for her to stop. “I can just...make deliveries. Or clean the workshop. As long as I can feed my daughter, I’ll take anything you can give me.”

They stood there on the path for a moment, until Senor Gomez finally sighed and nodded. “Alright. Come with me, and I can show you around. But that’s nonsense about cleaning or delivering. If you’re going to work for me, I’m going to put your talents to good use.”

Imelda smiled and nodded. “Thank you so much, Senor Gomez.”

He shook his head. “Call me Antonio. No need for formality here.”

“Then please, call me Imelda,” she said. 

Imelda followed him to the workshop, finally feeling at peace for the first time in months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	18. 1923 - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended soundtrack for this chapter:  
Wasting All These Tears on You by Cassadee Pope  
Over You by Daughtry

Months and months passed with no word from Hector.

The day that he was supposed to return came and went with no arrival. Ernesto hadn’t bothered returning either; Sofia had heard he returned to Mexico City to work on his first record. 

It was January, four months after he should have been home, when she first heard the song.

She was passing the grocer’s, on her way home from the workshop, when the radio made her stop in her tracks. The song was familiar, but unfamiliar at the same time. Where she used to hear soft strumming, there was brash guitar. The soft voice she had heard from inside her daughter’s room was replaced by boisterous singing and overly loud gritos. But the words were the same. The tune was the same.

Her hands were shaking. 

“Excuse me,” Imelda said to the grocer. He looked up from his newspaper.

“Senora Rivera!” He exclaimed. “Back for groceries already? It’s only Tuesday.”

“What is that song?” Imelda asked.

She could feel her stomach drop when he confirmed what Imelda already knew. “It’s Ernesto’s new song. The radios have been playing it constantly, Senora Rivera. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it.”

“Do you know what it’s called?” Imelda asked. She prayed that she was wrong; that the melody was just very similar, and her brain was playing tricks on her by recalling the words to a song she hadn’t heard in nearly two years. 

“‘Remember Me,’” the grocer said. “It may be his best yet.”

“Thank you, Senor,” Imelda said, her voice shaky. She turned, and almost ran home.

She tried to calm her thoughts on the way back, but Imelda felt as if nothing made sense anymore. Why was Ernesto singing Coco’s song? Why did he  _ have _ Coco’s song? Ernesto claimed Hector had left a year and a half ago. How did Ernesto have that song, the only song that Hector wouldn’t have given to anybody, if Hector had been gone for that long?

Imelda wasn’t just angry anymore; she was  _ livid _ .

She stormed inside the house, and ignored Sofia’s questions as she walked straight to her room at the back of the house. She yanked the nightstand drawer open, spilling the contents all over the floor. She cursed, not bothering to keep her voice down. Her hands found the picture of their little family, taken three years ago. Imelda, with a two-year-old Coco on her lap, and Hector standing behind them, guitar clutched in his hand. That guitar that she had given him, because she thought his music was their future, that it would give them everything they wanted.

How stupid she had been.

She ripped the picture quickly, not bothering to look how much of Hector she was ripping out. The ripped piece, Hector’s head and shoulders, fluttered to the ground. Imelda gathered it up, and all of Hector’s letters and poems. Seven years of letters. It made her sick to think of keeping them now.

She tossed them all into the trash, then sank to her knees. Her anger was waning now, replaced by a growing feeling of sadness. She sat there, surrounded by bits and pieces from the nightstand drawer, until Sofia came and knocked on the door frame.

“Imelda?” she asked. “Are you alright?”

Imelda looked up, then shook her head. “I heard Ernesto’s new song on the radio at the grocer’s.”

A confused look crossed Sofia’s face. “And...it was terrible?”

“It was Coco’s song,” Imelda said. “It was Coco’s song, but it was...different.”

“Coco’s song?” 

“Every night since she was six months old, Hector would sing a song to Coco. Same time, same song. When he was here, he never missed a night. When he wasn’t here, Coco sang it herself,” Imelda said. “And now, Ernesto de la Cruz is all over the radios singing some bastardized, love song version of that song. And Hector gave it to him.”

“Imelda,” Sofia said. “Ernesto said he hadn’t seen him in a year and a half.”

“But how does he have that song?” Imelda said. “No one knew that song except for me, Hector, and Coco. So he either gave the song to Ernesto before he left, or he’s still with Ernesto and Ernesto lied to me about it. Either way, he’s not coming back here, because he knows I would kill him after hearing that.”

Sofia didn’t say anything, just glanced at the papers now lying in the trash, and the ripped picture. 

“I just…” Imelda said. Her eyes filled with tears. “Some part of me just thought that he might still come back.”

“Imelda…” Sofia said softly.

Imelda wiped her eyes roughly. “Sorry, I’m being stupid. Forget I said anything. Where’s Coco?”

“In her room,” Sofia said. “I put her in there before I came in. Imelda, it’s okay to be upset. You’re a young, single mother who doesn’t really have any answers of why things ended up this way. Anyone would feel like this.”

“I’m not looking for pity, Sofia,” Imelda said, standing up and grabbing the small radio from the nightstand. “All I care about is that Coco doesn’t hear that song.”

“Imelda, you can’t keep her away from music,” Sofia said. “Music is everywhere in Santa Cecilia. It’s everywhere in every city.”

Imelda shook her head. “Music has done nothing but cause me heartbreak. I refuse to let it do the same to her.”

Sofia was silent, and Imelda straightened up the room, replacing the drawer on the nightstand. She threw the radio on top of the papers in the trash. She hesitated, then slid the ring from her finger. She looked at it.

“Imelda,” Sofia said. “Don’t throw that away.”

“It’s just a reminder of someone I would rather forget,” Imelda said. “It doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

She tossed the ring into the trash, and walked out of the room.

* * *

Later that night, Imelda was putting laundry away when she heard the song again. 

It was soft, barely audible. A tiny voice was singing, high-pitched and quiet, singing it slowly. Imelda laid the pile of laundry on her bed and crept down the hall, careful to not make a noise. 

She stood outside Coco’s door, listening to her lisping, five-year-old voice sing the song that she sang every night. The song that she believed that somewhere, maybe, her father was singing with her.

Imelda leaned against the wall next to Coco’s door, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears. She had cried enough today.. Listening to her daughter sing a song for the father that was never coming back, though, was too much for Imelda.

She sank to the floor, and pulled her knees up to her chest. She pressed her forehead against her knees, and let the tears fall freely as Coco’s small voice finished the song. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	19. 1923 - Part 3

Imelda flinched as she pricked her finger again, and held it out so it didn’t drip blood on the white fabric draped across her lap.

“Mama, what’s that?” Coco said, pulling herself up onto the seat next to Imelda. 

“It’s supposed to be Sofia’s wedding dress,” Imelda said. “Right now, it’s just fabric that’s too thick to actually sew.”

After the bleeding in her finger stopped, Imelda put the needle and fabric down and rubbed her temples. Everything had been piling up quickly since Sofia had said yes to Oscar Casal’s proposal two months ago. She had asked Imelda to not only stand beside her at the wedding as her maid of honor (Imelda tried to ignore the hesitation in Sofia’s voice when she said maid instead of matron), but to make her dress.

“Imelda, please,” Sofia had begged. “No one can make a dress like you do, and I want an absolutely amazing dress. Please?”

Imelda had relented, and the swiftly approaching wedding date forced Imelda to work on the dress in almost every spare minute she had.

It didn’t help that Senor Gomez was giving her more and more work as well. He was an old man, and Imelda could see that it helped him to have somebody else who could do the work of making shoes, repairing them, and delivering them. It took up much of her time during the day, and the dress took up most of her time at night. 

It was starting to get exhausting.

“Mama, are you tired?” Coco asked after Imelda yawned. “Maybe you can take my nap time today.”

Imelda laughed. Coco was now five years old, and absolutely not a fan of nap time. It was a daily fight with Imelda, or Sofia, or Senora Hernandez. “Not going to happen, mija. You need a nap more than I do.”

Coco pouted and crossed her arms. She pulled away when Imelda reached over to pull out the tie around one of her braids, a sure sign that it was nap time. Imelda shrugged and turned back to the dress in her lap. 

She had finished shaping the skirt when she felt Coco lean against her arm. She smiled, then nudged Coco. “Mija, I think it might be nap time.”

Coco yawned, and nodded, rubbing her eyes. Imelda set the dress aside and scooped Coco up and carried her to her bedroom. 

Imelda was tucking Coco’s small blanket around her when Coco looked up at her. “Mama?”

“What?” Imelda said.

“Where did Papa go?” 

Imelda froze, her hands resting on the blanket wrapped around Coco’s shoulders.

“I miss our song,” Coco said. “Does he still sing it with me?”

Imelda felt tears prick her eyes, but blinked rapidly before she looked down at Coco’s face. “I...I don’t know.”

“Will you sing it with me, Mama?” Coco asked. “Just once?”

Imelda didn’t know what to say. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she shook her head. “Not tonight, mija. It’s time to go to sleep.” 

Coco’s face fell, and Imelda looked away quickly. She said good night quietly, and walked off to her room.

* * *

A few weeks later, Imelda was working on the final details of Sofia’s dress when a knock sounded on the door. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Sofia asked. 

Imelda looked up from her crouch near the hem of the dress and shook her head. “No one comes here except for you and your mother.”

Coco tugged on Imelda’s hand. “Should I get it, Mama?”

“Go ahead,” Imelda said, folding a piece of lace under the hem of the dress. “Remember, ask who it is before you open the door.”

Coco ran off to the door, and Imelda heard her shout, “Who is it?” She half-listened for an answer, but then heard the door creak open. Then, Coco ran back into the living room. 

“Mama,” Coco said warily. “There are two of a man here.”

“Two men, mija,” Imelda said. Then, she looked over at Coco. “Two men are here?” 

Coco nodded. “They’re really tall, and they look the same.”

Imelda stood, puzzled. Then, she heard the voices. Her eyes widened, and she looked over at Sofia. “Oscar and Felipe?”

She hurried toward the door and stopped when she saw the two men in the doorway. They were tall, like Coco said, much taller than when she had last seen them. They were dressed similarly, in the fine way that their mother required: pressed white shirt, pants with crisp pleats, and shiny leather shoes. Imelda knew that in her faded green dress, stocking feet (with a hole by the big toe), and her hair that was falling out of its braided bun, she looked far from how they would remember her as well. 

Oscar looked up at her and his eyes widened. “Imelda?”

“Oscar,” Imelda said. She looked over at his twin standing next to him. “Felipe.”

They stood still, and Imelda took one step closer to them. “It’s been...a long time.”

Oscar nodded, but didn’t move.

Imelda cleared her throat. “Do you want to come in? I’m finishing up Sofia’s wedding dress, but we can...talk while I work?”

They seemed to hesitate, and really, she couldn’t blame them. It had been six years since she left home. Six years since she had seen them, six years for them to grow up without her. Six years was like a hundred in teenage time. 

Finally, they nodded, and followed her into the living room. Sofia, while clearly shocked, said hello to them and asked them about their lives. Imelda listened silently, her hands busy sewing. She learned that they had both been studying medicine with their father, and that Oscar enjoyed it far more than Felipe did. 

After several minutes, the stunted conversation lapsed into a somewhat relieved silence. Imelda worked, trying to think of how to broach this impossible distance between them, until Coco walked up to Felipe.

“Who are you?” She asked plainly. 

Imelda looked over, and she could see Felipe make the connection when he looked between Coco and Imelda. Even though Coco looked far more like Hector, she knew her brother could see the small ways that Coco took after the Diazes: her small nose, her round cheeks, and the darker color of her hair. 

“We’re...your Mama’s brothers,” Felipe answered. “I’m Felipe.”

“I’m Oscar,” Oscar said. “What’s your name?”

“Coco,” she answered. “Well, my name is actually Socorro. It was my abuelita’s name.”

Oscar looked puzzled, and turned toward Imelda. “Mama’s name is Isabela.”

Imelda blinked, and steeled herself before saying, “She’s talking about Hector’s mother.”

A silence fell over the room, and Imelda decided that she was tired of it. She put her needle and thread down. “So why are you here?” 

Oscar and Felipe looked at each other. “We decided we wanted to know how you were doing. Mama...she pretends you don’t exist.”

Imelda laughed. “Of course she does. Well, I haven’t seen her in six years, so she doesn’t really exist to us either.”

“Mama wanted us to find pictures for the ofrenda,” Felipe said. “And we found an old picture of us when you were fourteen. We were eight, and Mama made us pose in these terrible clothes.”

He held the picture out to Imelda, and she took it. It was old and yellowing, but Imelda could see her unsmiling face looking back out. This had been the summer she and Hector had become a couple, and Imelda remembered being annoyed that she had to be away from him for the afternoon to sit for the picture. The Imelda in the picture was dressed in that typical formal style - a dark-colored dress with a tight bodice and wide skirt, hand-embroidered with hundreds of intricate flowers. Her hair was somehow loose and rigidly styled at the same time; part of it was tightly coiled and bound to her head while the rest flowed in a perfect river down over her shoulder. The twins were small and stood by Imelda’s shoulders in dark colored pants and white shirts. 

Imelda’s heart twisted.

She handed the picture back to Felipe, and turned back to her needle and thread. “So what did you want?”

Oscar cleared his throat. “We miss you, Imelda. We’ve missed you for a long time.”

“I’ve been here,” Imelda said. “The whole time, I’ve been right here.”

“Mama would have killed us if we even mentioned looking for you or visiting you,” Felipe answered. “She doesn’t know we’re here now.”

Imelda looked back at Sofia’s hem. “We’re practically strangers now.”

“We shouldn’t be,” Oscar said forcefully. “You’re our big sister, Imelda. We’ve missed so much of each others’ lives already. Should we really miss anymore?”  
“You said it yourself,” Imelda snapped. “Mama would kill you if she knew you were here. She will find out eventually. And you’re not prepared to make that choice.”

“What choice?” Oscar said. 

“The choice I had to make!” Imelda said, whipping around to face him. “The choice between family and something that Mama deems unacceptable. It will be a choice between me and Mama, and you two are not prepared to make that choice.”

“With all due respect,” Felipe said softly. “You don’t know what we’re prepared to do.”

“Really?” Imelda said. “You’re ready to give up all the Diaz money, the prestige, the privilege? You’re ready to fight to get a job that barely pays enough to keep food on the table? You’re ready to constantly be talked about and whispered about?”

They were silent, and Imelda blinked to keep the tears away. She wanted her brothers to choose her so badly, but she also knew she didn’t want to condemn them to the kind of life she had now. 

“It will be different for us,” Felipe said. “And, we may not have to make that choice.”

Imelda laughed. “You will. Mama hates me. She will not let you just welcome me back with open arms. She won’t, so you can’t either.”

“We miss you, Imelda,” Oscar repeated. “We’re family, and family supports each other. Mama might pretend you’re not family, but we can’t. We want to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Imelda said immediately. “I’ve survived well enough on my own, and I don’t need anything from you.”

“Imelda, please,” Felipe said. “We need you. And, deep down, you need us.”

Imelda paused, considering his words. She knew he was right. She did need them, and she missed them more than she thought she did. It had just been her and Coco for so long now; she couldn’t, wouldn’t acknowledge the space inside her that longed for a family connection again. 

“Fine,” she said hesitantly. “I miss you, too, and I do want you around. But I just want you to know that it will come down to a choice eventually.”

“And we’ll make that choice if it comes,” Oscar said, and they both smiled at her.

“Now, let’s get to playing with our little niece,” Felipe said excitedly. “We have five years of spoiling to make up for!” 

* * *

“Are you ready?” Imelda asked, fluffing the veil handing around Sofia’s shoulders. 

“I think so,” Sofia said, running a hand over her dress. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful,” Imelda said.

She really did. The dress had turned out to be stunning. It was ivory satin with lace sewn into a tiered skirt style. The bodice was a simple ivory satin, and she wore a short lace cape over her shoulders. Her hair was braided and tightly coiled into a chignon on the back of her head.

Sofia waved her hands in front of her. “I’m so nervous. My hands are shaking.”

Imelda laughed. “You won’t be nervous anymore once you see him.”

“Were you this nervous?” Sofia asked, then covered her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. That just slipped out.”

“It’s fine,” Imelda said, forcing a smile back onto her face. “I didn’t have all of this fanfare happening for me, so my wedding wasn’t quite as nerve-racking.”

It was true; the Hernandezes had spared no expense for their only daughter’s wedding. They were a average family, but the wedding they were throwing could put an upper class wedding to shame. They were in the church in the center of town, with flowers sitting and hanging on nearly every available surface. Everyone in town had been invited, as well as Oscar’s family from the coast. Everyone was dressed impeccably, and they were smiling and milling about every time Imelda poked her head out to look. She couldn’t help but feel a little stab of bitterness every time she thought about how this wedding compared to hers. 

“Is he out there yet?” Sofia asked. “Please look, just one more time. Then you can stop.”

Sofia had said this several times over the past hour, so Imelda just smiled and nodded. She walked over to the corner and poked her head through the curtain. 

She saw her brothers walking over to their seats, and then saw Oscar standing at the front in a black suit. He was smiling, but looking around and fidgeting, just like Sofia was behind her.

Imelda turned back to her friend. “He’s out there, and he’s fidgeting around just like you are. I think it might be time to get you down the aisle.”

Sofia smiled. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Imelda remembered that feeling like it was yesterday. 

“Let’s get you married,” Imelda said, parroting Sofia’s words from so long ago.

Sofia looked at her, then smiled.

Together, they walked out to start Sofia’s walk to her new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	20. 1934

The years passed.

Some went quickly, especially once Coco started attending school regularly. It seemed like she came home every day a little taller, a little older looking than when she left in the morning. 

Some dragged on, like the year that marked ten years since Hector had left. Imelda had tried to pretend it didn’t matter. She had been a single mother for what felt like Coco’s entire life - why should a ten year mark matter?

But it did.

It didn’t make her sad anymore, though. It made her angry.

She was angry every time she had to sit and decide what they could go without in order to have a little bit more money saved up. 

She was angry every time she had to pull Coco away from the dancing shoes that sat on her workspace near the wall.

She was angry every time Coco smiled and all she saw was Hector’s damn face.

Now, though, it had been twelve years since he had left, and Imelda could forget her anger most of the time. Senor Gomez was getting ready to retire, and he was passing off more and more of the work to Imelda. She had started making her own shoes as well; different designs than Senor Gomez’s, and she was starting to get a customer following of her own. Felipe and Oscar, who had cut ties with their family after they expressed their disinterest in becoming doctors, had joined her in shoemaking. While money was still tight, Imelda felt happy about her work.

No, it wasn’t work that made Imelda nervous anymore.

It was Coco.

Coco was fifteen now, and Imelda couldn’t quite believe it. Her beautiful baby girl had turned into a beautiful young woman. She had started asking questions about shoes, and Imelda had started showing her how she made them. 

But while Coco had an eye for shoemaking, she was still Hector’s daughter.

Imelda knew that Coco’s passion was for music, just like her papa. Imelda caught her leaning out the window more than once, straining to listen to the neighbors’ radio. 

Imelda kept the windows shut as much as possible after that.

She had caught Coco sneaking off to the plaza with a pair of dancing shoes stuffed in her school bag. 

Imelda stopped making dancing shoes for a month, until Senor Gomez showed her how much money dancing shoes made compared to others.

It felt like everywhere Imelda looked, there was Coco trying to sneak off to find some kind of music. 

Was this what Imelda’s mother had felt like when she was a teenager?

It didn’t help that as Coco got older, her resemblance to Hector got more and more pronounced. Other than her dark hair, round cheeks, and small nose, there was nothing of Imelda reflected in Coco: she had Hector’s smile, Hector’s round eyes, even Hector’s ears (somewhat unfortunately). Every time Coco slipped out the door, she saw Hector walking out for the last time. 

It made her chest feel like a fist was grabbing her heart. 

She tried to keep Coco busy, but some days, it was impossible to keep her away from the plaza. 

Like today.

Imelda stood in the doorway of their house, looking up and down the path to see if Coco was on her way home. She didn’t see anything, and she let out a sigh.

_ That girl _ , she thought,  _ will be the death of me _ .

* * *

Coco leaned against the stucco wall of one of the shops that lined the plaza. There was a band playing on the small stage, and Coco couldn’t help but close her eyes and take it in.

“Senorita, why are you hiding back here?”

Coco jumped, and looked at the man standing in front of her. Maybe man wasn’t quite right - boy? He seemed around her age, short and somewhat stout with messy hair and a thin beginning of what could grow to a thick mustache.

“I’m listening to the music,” Coco said. “But I don’t want anyone to see me.”

“But why?” The boy asked. 

Coco looked sheepishly at him. “My mama would kill me if she I was here. If someone saw me, they would definitely be on the phone to her in just a few minutes.”  
“Does your mama not approve of the plaza?” He asked.

Coco was starting to get confused. Did this boy not know who she was? Who her family was? “Something like that.”

She thought the boy would go away after a non-answer like that, but he stayed in front of her. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know who my mama is?” Coco asked. It was rare that she found someone in Santa Cecilia who didn’t know who the Riveras were, and especially who Imelda was. 

He shook his head. “Sorry, should I? My family moved here only a month ago, I haven’t met very many people in town.”

“I’m Coco Rivera,” she said. “My mama is-”

“The shoemaker!” The boy said, his eyes widening. He nodded quickly. “I do know who she is! The first place we went when we got here was to the shops to buy new shoes. Senor Gomez had many shoes, but none were as comfortable as the Rivera boots he told us about. I’m wearing them now!”

He held out his foot, and Coco saw the seal that her mother had been branding shoes with three weeks ago. She had designed a new seal now that was gracing the sides of Rivera shoes. 

“Thank you for your business,” Coco said, repeating the phrase her mother had made her learn when people started purchasing their shoes. 

“But...why does she not approve of the plaza?” He asked. 

“It’s more like...music in general that she doesn’t approve of,” Coco said. “But I love it. I could dance all day if she would let me.”

“Then, let’s dance,” he said, holding out his hand.

Coco laughed. “Thank you, but no. Like I said, my mama would kill me if she found out I was here.”

“Well, Senorita Rivera,” he said. “Can I at least walk you home?”

Coco considered that. She wanted to say yes, but her mama would ask where she had met him. But, Coco could make up a lie, couldn’t she?  
She smiled and nodded. “But I don’t make a habit of walking home with boys who don’t tell me their names.”

He blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Julio Garza.”

“Okay then,” Coco said, and she held out her arm for him to take. “It’s nice to meet you, Julio.”

As they walked, Coco learned several things about Julio: his family were woodworkers, he had a sister, they had moved from a small coastal town only about two hours away.

She also learned that he was a musician.

Coco had felt the blood drain out of her face at that, and she nearly stopped in her tracks. As it was, she did stumble and Julio had to catch her to stop her from falling. 

Coco’s head was spinning. A musician? She was bringing a  _ musician _ within fifty feet of Imelda Rivera? Was she insane?

She had to be insane.

She saw her mother standing in the doorway, and saw her face rise when she saw Coco and then settle into an indifferent line when she saw that she had company. 

“Hello, Mama,” Coco said, leaving Julio behind and greeting her mother.

“How was your day, mija?” Imelda said, turning her attention to Coco. But Coco could tell that part of Imelda’s attention was still on Julio.

“It was fine,” Coco said. She took a deep breath and then started, “I met a new friend while I was walking home.”

“Oh?” Imelda asked. “And who is he?”

“Julio Garza, Senora,” Julio said, taking off his hat. “Excuse me, but I saw your daughter walking home alone and asked if I could join her. I love your boots, and I wanted to tell you myself.”

“Well, thank you,” Imelda said. “I appreciate your business. Coco, it’s almost dinnertime. Get inside.”

“Yes, Mama,” Coco said. She turned to Julio. “Thank you for walking me home.”

He pulled his hat off and nodded. “Anytime.”

Coco blushed slightly, then turned and went into the house. Imelda eyed the boy for another moment before he nodded to her and told her goodbye. He walked off down the lane, and Imelda frowned slightly as she went back inside.

* * *

“So little Coco might have her eye on someone,” Sofia said over the phone. “That’s exciting.”

“There’s something she’s not telling me,” Imelda said, leaning against the counter by the phone. She had just had it put in the house a month ago, and the cord was so short she could barely stand it. 

“You’re so suspicious, Imelda,” Sofia said, laughing. “Maybe she just doesn’t want to tell her mother everything that goes on in her life.”

“You’ll think it’s funny when little Ramona is older,” Imelda said. 

“Ramona is only two, and she’ll have a brother to watch out for her,” Sofia said.

Imelda laughed softly. Sofia and Oscar had taken some time to start their own little family, but they hadn’t slowed down since they started. Their oldest, Matias, was five years old, Ramona was two, and Sofia was seven months pregnant with another. “How are they doing?”

“Matias is starting school in a month, and he keeps trying to make up a new excuse to not go,” Sofia said. “But I expected that.”

“Coco’s almost done with school. She’ll be starting in the shop full time after her quinceanera.”

“Oh, I’m so excited,” Sofia squealed. “I bet she’s going to look so beautiful. Maybe she’ll dance with her new man.”

“I’m excited for you to be here and meet him,” Imelda said. “So I can know if I’m just being paranoid about him.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Sofia said. “I have news!”

“What?” Imelda said. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“I got distracted,” Sofia said. “But Oscar keeps reminding me to tell you.”

“Well, what is it?” Imelda said. “You’re not having twins, are you?”

“No way,” Sofia said, laughing again. “We’re moving back to Santa Cecilia!”

“Really?” Imelda said, smiling. 

“My papa is sick,” Sofia said. “Not deathly sick, but I decided I needed to be closer to him and my mama. Oscar agreed, so when we come back for Coco’s quinceanera, we’re staying for good.”

“Oh, that’s so exciting, Sofia!” Imelda said. She could never tell Sofia, but her absence had left a huge gap in Imelda’s life the past ten years. 

“I know,” Sofia said. “I’ve been wanting to move back almost since I got to the coast. It’s pretty here, but it’s not home.”

They spoke for a few more minutes before Sofia had to go. Imelda put the phone down, but the unease crept back into her mind. As she started making dinner for Coco and her brothers, she couldn’t help thinking about what Coco might be keeping from her.

* * *

“That was wonderful,” Coco said. She sat on a bench with Julio in a partially hidden alley. They were close enough that Coco could hear faint strains of music from the plaza, but she was more focused on the song that Julio had just finished playing. “Maybe the best I’ve heard.”

“Thank you, but I’m just average,” Julio said. “I can’t write songs, either, so my playing isn’t terribly creative.”

“Well, I thought it was beautiful,” Coco said. “But keep in mind, I haven’t really heard much music for the past ten years.”

Julio laughed, then set his guitar aside. “I’ll keep improving, then, so you can always have the best music.”

Coco smiled and blushed, but didn’t respond. 

Julio’s smile fell slightly, and he reached forward and lightly lifted her hand. Coco intertwined her fingers with his, and her cheeks turned even more red than before. 

“Coco,” he said, clearing his throat. “Could we...I mean, could I...may I....”

Coco leaned forward. “Yes.”

She leaned toward him until his lips met hers halfway. He was hesitant, and Coco wasn’t forceful, either. It was a light kiss, nothing that would draw attention to them, but Coco felt a jolt go through her body when Julio kissed her. 

She pulled back, and smiled softly. Julio blushed deeply, and moved to pick up his guitar again. Coco glanced at the time at his watch and scrambled to her feet. 

“I need to get home,” she said. “My mama wanted my help with the shoes today.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Julio asked.

Coco nodded. “Of course. I’ll be here, same time.”

She turned and hurried away.

* * *

Imelda stood in the doorway when Coco came walking up the path.

“Sorry I’m late, Mama,” Coco said. “I got distracted walking through the market.”

“He’s a musician, isn’t he?” Imelda said flatly. 

Coco looked up. “What?”

“That boy that you have been meeting,” Imelda said. “Is he a musician?"

Imelda was furious, that much was clear. Her eyes were hard and steely, and she had her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, as usual when she was working, but now it made her look formidable and intimidating. 

Coco looked over through the window, and saw her uncles look quickly back down at their work. “Mama, it’s not-”

“Get inside,” Imelda said shortly. She turned and walked in, and Coco followed.

Coco put her bag down in the hallway and followed her mother to the kitchen. Imelda turned back to her.

“A musician, Coco? Out of all people?” Imelda asked. 

“Mama, he’s not a musician,” Coco said. “At least, not like you think he is. He plays music. For fun.”

Imelda scoffed. “He’s doing it for fun now, but what about when he’s seventeen? Twenty? Thirty? Will it still be for fun?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Coco said. 

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” Imelda responded. “Musicians are not reliable. They do not make good boyfriends, or husbands, or fathers. What will happen when your musician turns his back on you and leaves you alone?”

“Mama, I know how you feel about musicians,” Coco started. “But that’s not how I feel. Julio isn’t like that.”

“How do you know what he’s like?” Imelda snapped. “You’re not even fifteen yet, Coco, and he is only how old? Sixteen?”

“You don’t know him,” Coco said, a little more fiercely. “He’s not like Papa.”

“He’s a musician,” Imelda said, ignoring Coco’s statement.. “And you know my rule about that. You’re not seeing him anymore.”

“That’s not fair,” Coco said.

“No, what’s not fair would be watching my daughter make the same mistakes I did and not doing anything about it,” Imelda snapped. “I’m doing you a favor. You’ll thank me later.”

“And what if I don’t?” Coco replied. 

“Excuse me?” Imelda said.

“What if I don’t thank you later?” Coco said, crossing her arms. “What if I’m right and I miss out on a chance at real happiness because you did what you thought is best for me?”

“It’s my job to protect you, Coco,” Imelda said. 

“You don’t have to protect me anymore!” Coco said. “I’m not four years old. I know that Papa left us. I know that he left because of music and he wanted to be a musician more than he wanted us to be a family. I know all of that, Mama, so please, don’t try to protect me from it anymore.”

“Coco, you don’t understand,” Imelda started, but Coco interrupted her.

“I understand it all, Mama, and I think about it nearly every day,” Coco said. “I wonder where he is, what he’s doing, and if he ever thinks about me. I think about it more than you think I do, but I know that music isn’t at fault. All musicians are not like Papa, and Julio is not Papa. I just wish you had more faith in me to make my own choice.”

Coco turned and hurried to her room, leaving Imelda in the kitchen. Imelda braced her hands on the counter and blinked back the rush of tears that came at Coco’s words.

* * *

“Well, it might have been a little harsh, Imelda,” Sofia said through the phone. “If she’s really in love with him-”

“She’s fourteen,” Imelda said. “She doesn’t know what love really is.”

“If I remember right,” Sofia said. “Weren’t you fourteen when you and-”

“Yes, and look how that turned out,” Imelda said sharply.

“Imelda,” Sofia said, her voice going soft. “You of all people should know that you can’t really keep her from him.”

Imelda sighed. “I know. You should have seen her, Sofia. It honestly scared me a little bit.”

Sofia laughed, a short laugh. “Coco? Scary? You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Imelda said. “Because for once, I didn’t see him when I looked at her. I saw me, arguing with my mother and telling her that she couldn’t stop me from doing what I wanted.”

Sofia was quiet, and then said softly, “Imelda, you’re not your mother. Not at all.”

Imelda closed her eyes, holding back the tears that had suddenly filled her eyes. “Then why does it feel like I’m more and more like her every day?”

Sofia didn’t respond, so Imelda said goodbye and hung up the phone. She stood in the kitchen for a long time until Coco came in and grabbed a drink before leaving without speaking to Imelda. She watched her leave, and then silently wiped a tear from her eye as she got started on dinner.

* * *

Imelda opened the door the next day and jumped in surprise when she saw that it was Julio standing at the door, his hat in his hands.

“Coco isn’t here,” Imelda said, moving to shut the door.

“Pardon me, Senora Rivera,” he said. “But I came to speak to you.”

Imelda paused, then opened the door again. She nodded, and Julio came in. 

They sat down at the dining table, and Imelda noticed how Julio sat rod straight with his hands folded neatly in front of him.

“What did you want to speak to me about?” Imelda asked. 

“Coco told me that you found out about me being a musician,” Julio said.

“Then I hope she also told you about the rule I have in this household,” Imelda responded. 

Julio nodded. “She did. I can’t say I understand it, but I’m not here to challenge your rules, Senora.”

“Then why are you here?” Imelda asked bluntly.

“I wanted to tell you that I love your daughter,” Julio said. “I want to marry her, and I want your blessing for it.”

Imelda shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let my daughter marry a musician.”

“Then I won’t be a musician,” Julio said. 

Imelda’s eyes widened. Had he said what she thought he said? “You would give it up? That easily?”

Julio nodded. “If that’s what it takes, I would. For Coco.”

Imelda sat in silence, looking at Julio. He was serious; she could see it in his eyes. 

“You understand that it means no music at all,” Imelda said, making a cutting motion with her hand. “We don’t play music, listen to music, or have music in our house at all.”

Julio nodded again. “Senora, I understand completely. I love Coco, and I want to marry her. I’d do anything to have your permission to do that.”

She stared at him for another moment, then sighed. “She’s very young, so I can’t agree to her getting married now. But, in the future, if you’re still willing to give it up in a year or two, you would have my blessing.”

Julio brightened, a smile stretching across his face. “Thank you, Senora!”

He left shortly after, and Imelda leaned against the wall beside the door after he left. She rubbed her temples. It had been so long with just her and Coco, it was hard to fathom a life where there was someone else. She sighed. 

She guessed she would just have to get used to it.

* * *

She was in the kitchen when Coco came in, grabbed an apple from the basket, and walked away.

“Mija,” Imelda called out. “I need to talk to you.”

Coco stopped and turned. “What about?”

“Julio stopped by today,” Imelda said. “We had an interesting talk.”

“Did you tell him to go away and never come back?” Coco said. “That seems to be what you want to tell him.”

“No,” Imelda said. “He actually came to ask me for permission to be with you. I told him yes.”

Coco looked up in surprise. “You did?”  
Imelda nodded. “Coco, I’m not trying to make you unhappy. I spent years fighting with my mama about the exact same thing, and I don’t want to do that to you.”

“I know, you told me,” Coco said. 

“But, like I said before, it’s my job to protect you,” Imelda said. “And make sure that you don’t make the same mistakes that I made. There’s a lot that I haven’t told you about what happened...with your papa. And there are some things I won’t tell you. But Julio...he made me believe that you won’t be making those mistakes.”

“Really?” Coco said. 

Imelda nodded, and ran her hand through Coco’s hair. “So are we okay? I don’t want you to be angry with me, mija.”

“I’m not angry anymore, Mama,” Coco said. “But we do still need to talk about something.”

“What is it?” Imelda asked.

“When are we going to finish my dress for my quinceanera?” Coco said with a big smile on her face.

* * *

Imelda stood off to the side and watched Coco walk around the party, her arm wrapped around Julio’s. She took a sip of her drink as Sofia slid up beside her, Ramona on her hip.

“Isn’t that sweet?” She said. Imelda smiled before Sofia continued, “Are you hearing wedding bells yet?”

Imelda scoffed. “She’s fifteen.”

“Two years older than you were-” 

“And three years younger than I was when I got married,” Imelda said. “She doesn’t need to rush.”

Sofia smiled at her. “I’m glad you and Coco are okay again, Imelda.”

“Me too,” Imelda said.

“What changed your mind?” Sofia asked, bouncing Ramona up and down on her hip.

“Julio did,” Imelda said. “He told me he would give music up for her. I’m going to teach him to make shoes instead.”

Sofia’s eyes widened. “Really? And you changed your mind, just like that?”

“He’s willing to give it up,” Imelda said. “For her.”

“But-”

“Hector wasn’t willing to give music up for me,” Imelda said. “Julio is willing to give music up for Coco. That’s all that matters to me.”

Sofia looked at her, then nodded in understanding. “Because she’s not going to turn out like you.”

Imelda nodded. “I’ve worried for years that Coco would end up with a life like mine. And I love my life, Sofia. But I would rather her have the good parts without the misery.”

She looked over at Coco and Julio, smiling at each other as they talked to a few of Coco’s friends. 

“And I think she’s going to be just fine,” Imelda said, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	21. 1936

“No,” Imelda said firmly as she sat the plates down on the table.

“Mama, please,” Coco begged. “Just one song. One dance.”

“You know the rules, Coco,” Imelda said. “Our family does not listen to music. For any reason.”

“Not even my wedding?” Coco asked. 

Imelda sighed. This argument had been ongoing since Coco’s engagement. It had been a quiet arrangement. Julio had simply asked Coco to marry him almost two months ago, and neither family had seen much of a reason to publicize it. 

“Coco, we have one rule,” Imelda said. 

“And it can be broken for one night,” Coco said. “Not even one night, just one  _ song _ .”

Imelda shook her head. “I’m sorry, mija. Maybe you and Julio can find a new tradition for your wedding.”

She expected more of an argument, but Coco just sighed and walked over to the dress that had been in the corner for nearly a month now. It was a beautiful dress, crafted by Imelda and Coco together. White organza embroidered with vines and flowers around the hem with long, loose sleeves that had the same embroidery around the edges. The neck was high lace, ending right at the collarbone. The skirt fell all the way to the floor and then kept going, into a full train that would flow three feet behind Coco as she walked down the aisle. It hung on a shabby dress form in the corner and Coco and Imelda’s conversations often circled around it, but those had tapered off as the wedding approached. Three days out, and Imelda had assumed all conversations about the dress were done.

“Mama,” Coco said, running her fingers across the fabric. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

Imelda paused. This hadn’t been the question she had expected, and it wasn’t the one that she was prepared for. “Do you think you are?”

Coco paused. “I love Julio, and I know he’s the one I want to marry. Even if it was ten years in the future, I would still want to marry him.”

“Then what’s making you think you’re not doing the right thing?” Imelda asked, confused. She felt like she was treading through dangerous waters, and one wrong word could change the plans completely.

“I’m not sure,” Coco said. “It just popped into my head.”

Imelda looked at her, and saw Coco’s eyes dart to the family picture that hung on the wall. The one that had a large rip through the upper right hand corner.

_ Ah _ , Imelda thought.  _ That’s it _ .

Imelda walked over to her and ran a hand down one of her braids. Then, she took Coco’s hand. “Mija, you’re a smart girl. Smarter than I was at seventeen. If you know that you love Julio, and you know that you want to spend your life with him, then I think you’re doing the right thing. Trust yourself.”

Coco smiled, then squeezed Imelda’s hand. “Thank you, Mama.”

Imelda hesitated, then smiled sadly before picking up the fabric and putting Coco to work on the dress's final details.

* * *

“It’s like...she’s more aware of it now, I think,” Imelda said over tea the next day. Coco was out with Julio’s sister Rosita looking at flowers, and Sofia had brought Ramona and baby Maria over for tea. “She feels his absence more now, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“What do you mean?” Sofia asked, lifting her cup up. 

“I don’t know if it’s nerves or something else, but she was asking if she was making the right decision,” Imelda said. “And I catch her looking at that old family portrait more often than usual.”

“Maybe she’s realizing that she won’t have a father at her wedding,” Sofia said. “She’s been to a couple of weddings, enough to realize that hers won’t be like her friends’.”

Imelda sighed. “I wish I could make it easier for her.”

Sofia didn’t say anything. She fidgeted in her seat and tapped her fingers against her cup. 

“Sofia?” Imelda asked, furrowing her brow. “Is something wrong?”

Sofia blinked, then shook her head. “No, sorry, I just got distracted thinking about an errand we need to run on the way home. We should actually get going.”

She stood up, and Imelda followed. “You’ll be over tomorrow, though, for the girls’ dresses?”

Sofia smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

They walked to the door, and Sofia hugged Imelda. “It will all work out, Imelda. You’ll figure it out, you always do.”

Imelda felt her eyes well up, and she blinked the tears away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

Sofia arrived at the house early, while Imelda was still out running errands. She held a box, and walked in and knocked determinedly on Coco’s bedroom door.

Coco’s eyebrows went up when she opened the door. “Sofia?”

“Do you have a minute?” Sofia asked. 

Coco nodded. “Is something wrong?”

Sofia shook her head. “No, I just have something for you. I’ve been saving it a while, and I think the day before your wedding is a nice time for you to have it. It can be my wedding gift to you.”

Coco opened the door a little wider, and Sofia stepped in. The room was sparsely decorated, as it had been since Coco was little. She sat down in the chair in the corner, and Coco sat on the bed across from her.

“I’ve been waiting to give you this for a long time,” Sofia said, holding out the box for Coco to take. 

“What are they?” Coco asked as she took the box. Sofia didn’t answer, so she reached in and pulled out a piece of paper. The words across the top caught her eye:  _ My sweet Coco _ .

Coco looked past it, at others with similar headings. To her, and to her mother. There were so many sheets of paper, and Coco found herself running a hand over the letters written on the page.

“Are these…” she trailed off, catching sight of her father’s signature. “Did Mama throw these away?”

Sofia nodded. “When you were five, Imelda...I guess that was when she really understood that your papa wasn’t coming back.”

“She threw all of these out,” Coco said, her voice rising in anger. “All of this, and I never got to see any of it?”

“I don’t think she really wanted to, Coco,” Sofia said, trying to assuage her anger. “She was upset, and angry.”

Coco pulled paper after paper out of the box, creating a pile of more than thirty letters. 

“I wasn’t able to get all of them. Your papa wrote too many letters, and Imelda threw them out too quickly,” Sofia said, gesturing toward the box. “But there’s more than just letters in there, too.”

Coco looked, and pulled out the wedding ring and the small ripped picture. She looked at her papa’s face, those round eyes and that mouth that looked just like hers. She felt a tear roll down her face and she reached up quickly to swipe it away.

“I thought you might want to see them, especially now,” Sofia said softly. “To remember that just because he isn’t here, your papa didn’t...he thought about you all the time when he was gone. And it’s not a bad thing for you to be thinking of him. Especially now.”

Coco’s breath hitched, and she put the letters back in the box before her tears could fall on them. “Thank you.”

Sofia reached out and hugged her. She squeezed Coco tightly.

“What’s going on?”

Sofia looked over at the doorway as Imelda came in. Coco tried to wipe her face quickly, and Sofia saw her foot try to push the box under the bed. “I was just talking to Coco about the wedding. Asking if she was excited, since it’s tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Imelda said, then pointed at the box. “And what’s in the box?”

Coco didn’t speak or move, but Sofia sat up a little straighter and said, “Hector’s letters.”

Imelda’s face drained of color, and she reached for the box. Coco picked it up and held it. 

“Coco,” Imelda said. “Give that to me.”

“It was a gift,” Coco said. “Sofia gave it to me as my wedding present. They’re mine.”

“I threw them out,” Imelda said. “You were never supposed to see them.”

“Half of them have my name on them,” Coco said, not meeting her eyes. “They’re my property.”

Imelda turned to Sofia. “Can I speak to you in the living room, please?”

She turned, leaving Coco in her room. Sofia followed, and when they reached the living room, she faced Imelda.

“You had no right to do that,” Imelda said, crossing her arms and staring defiantly at Sofia. 

“You said she was feeling his absence more,” Sofia said. “I filled that hole a little bit.”

“I didn’t ask you to fill it at all,” Imelda snapped. “Those weren’t yours to give.”

“I had to do something, Imelda,” Sofia said. “She deserved to have them. As a mother-”

“You are not  _ her _ mother,” Imelda said sharply. Sofia flinched slightly. “I am. If the roles were reversed, I would never do to Ramona what you just did to Coco.”

“But don’t you see how she feels?” Sofia said, unrelenting. “She’s getting married, and it’s the best day of her life. But it’s also going to be one of the worst because there are some things that she just can’t do. She doesn’t have a father to walk her down the aisle, or dance with her, or embarrass her at the reception.”

“These letters don’t replace him, Sofia!” Imelda shouted. “They were lies, every single one of them. In the end, that’s all they were. I’m not going to lie to my daughter and tell her that her father loved her but he just can’t be here. He could, and he chose to not be.”

“If the letters help a little bit, then why not let them?” Sofia said. “If they make her feel a little bit better about tomorrow, then what’s so wrong about letting her read a few letters from when she was three years old? Coco deserves to know that she had a good father, Imelda, as much as you don’t want to admit.”

“But she didn’t!” Imelda yelled, throwing her hands up. “She didn’t have a good father, or he would still be here. If she had a good father, we wouldn’t be having this argument.”

“Imelda,” Sofia said. “I was there, and Hector was my friend, too. I’m not trying to defend him, or make it make sense, but-”

“You can stop there,” Imelda interrupted. “If you’re not trying to defend him, then you can stop.”

“But,” Sofia continued. “When he was there, he was a good father. Better than most, actually.”

Imelda closed her eyes tightly, and shook her head, trying to dislodge the memories that flooded her mind at Sofia’s words. Hector’s face when Coco was born, all of the times that he was up late playing with her because he didn’t want the day to be over, and all of the times he played that song for her.

“She’s seventeen, Imelda,” Sofia said, a little softer. “She’s confused, and she’s trying to make sense of the fact that her father isn’t here to dance with her at her wedding.”

“And I’m not?” Imelda said, opening her eyes again. “You don’t think that I’ve been confused for fourteen years about why this happened?”

“Imelda-”

“I think,” Imelda interrupted. “Everyone forgets just how young I was when Hector left. I had to make sense of it all a long time ago, and I did what I had to do to make mine and Coco’s life easier without him. I thought I did a pretty good job of it, too. I’ve done it for seventeen years, and I’m still doing it. He did it for three, and gave up.”

“Imelda, I’m not-” Sofia started, but Imelda held up a hand.

“I got rid of those letters for a reason,” Imelda said. “Yes, I was angry, but I didn’t throw them away just because of that. I read those letters thousands of times in the years after he left. I tried and tried to find something that would tell me why he left. I didn’t find a damn thing. They just made me more confused. Can’t you see why I wouldn’t want my daughter to go through the same thing?”

Imelda swiped at her eyes, and Sofia took a step closer. “Imelda, I never wanted to hurt you or Coco. I just thought-”

“No, you didn’t think,” Imelda said sharply. “I never thought you would do something like this, Sofia.”

“I wanted to help,” Sofia said. “And I still want to help. Just tell me how to fix it.”

“You’ve done enough,” Imelda said. “Just...go. Please.”

Sofia didn’t say anything. She nodded, and Imelda watched her turn and walk out of the house.

Imelda stood in the living room for a moment before walking back to Coco’s room. She sat on her bed, with a few of the letters in her hand.

“Coco-”

“I understand,” Coco said. “Why we don’t have music. I understand now.”

“You do?” Imelda asked, surprised.

Coco nodded. “They’re all here. All these songs, I’ve heard them on the radio, and in the plaza. His songs are famous.”

Imelda hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

“But he left us for it,” Coco said. “It’s in his letters. ‘There were so many more people at this show’ and ‘The people love us’ and ‘We have to extend the tour because so many people want to see us’. He always wanted that, didn’t he?”

Imelda wanted to say no, wanted to say that he hadn’t always been like that. That once he had been just the skinny orphan boy who sang her songs down by the river. She blinked rapidly. “I...I don’t know. But he wanted it in the end.”

“He wanted it more than us,” Coco said. 

Imelda thought she could feel her heart split in two. She brushed her fingers through Coco’s hair. “I wish I had the answer you want, mija. I wish I could tell you that he would have come home if he could. I even wish he was here, just so it could make you feel better. But I don’t have answers for you. I don’t even have answers for myself.”

“It’s not fair,” Coco said bluntly.

Imelda laughed softly. “I’ve said to myself every day for the past fourteen years. It will get easier. And one day, a whole day will pass and you’ll realize that you haven’t thought about it once. But now you know, and now it starts to get easier.”

Coco sighed and leaned her head against Imelda’s shoulder. “I know why you say no music. I don’t think I want to hear another song again in my life.”

Imelda smiled sadly, and leaned her head down to rest on Coco’s. She took her hand and squeezed it. For once, there wasn’t anything else Imelda could say.

* * *

The church was a flurry of activity in the morning, and Imelda had had enough.

After a tense exchange with Senora Garza over the placement of a flower bouquet, Imelda had excused herself to sit on a bench outside the church. She leaned her head back and rubbed her fingers on her temples.

“Can I sit here?” A voice asked.

Imelda opened her eyes. Sofia stood in front of her in the nice blue dress that Imelda had helped her pick out for the wedding. Imelda nodded.

Sofia sat down beside her, and after a minute started to say, “Imelda, I’m-”

“Thank you,” Imelda said. 

“What?” Sofia asked, startled.

“Thank you,” Imelda repeated. “Giving Coco those letters...it fixed whatever trouble she was having. So even if it wasn’t the way I would have solved it, I need to thank you.”

“Oh,” Sofia said. “Well, I still want to apologize. I should have asked you first, or even just told you that I had them. I never wanted to hurt you, Imelda. I just wanted to help.”

“I know,” Imelda said. “And I should have realized that. I did, about an hour after you left. But by then I was caught up in last minute details for today and didn’t have time to tell you.”

“How has the wedding day gone so far?” Sofia asked.

Imelda laughed. “It makes me glad that I never had one. And it makes me feel like my mother should thank me for not putting her through this.”

Sofia threw her head back and laughed. “Well, what can I do to help?”

* * *

Imelda had to admit that the hard work was worth it.

It was a beautiful ceremony, from the moment that Ramona and Maria walked down the aisle as flower girls to the moment that the priest announced that Julio and Coco were husband and wife. 

Imelda watched the reception from a small table. Without music, the guests still milled about and chatted. Some danced to no music, but Coco and Julio stayed with each other. They walked around and talked to guests, but Imelda caught them mostly just holding hands and looking at each other. Seeing how much love they had for each other made a pang go through Imelda’s chest. It was bittersweet, seeing her daughter in much the same position as she had been when she was her age. 

“...hope it works out for her.”

“Well, like mother, like daughter.”

Imelda turned toward the derisive voices and found two women standing off to the side. She leaned toward them and said, “Excuse me.”

The older of the two looked over at her and flushed slightly. “Imelda. We were just talking about how beautiful the wedding is. You must be happy.”

Imelda nodded. “I am. Julio’s a good young man, and Coco’s very happy. But you really never know with these things.”

The women shared a look, then looked back at her, a wariness in their eyes that hadn’t been there before. 

“What do you mean?” The younger one asked.

“Well, obviously you know, since you were so keenly noticing it just a minute ago,” Imelda said, smiling sweetly. “‘Like mother, like daughter’, I believe you said?”

“Imelda, we didn’t mean-”

“Oh, I think you did,” Imelda said. “And usually I would agree with you, but I know my daughter. And trust me, she’s not very much like me at all. So I would appreciate if you wouldn’t make assumptions about my family, especially at my daughter’s wedding.”

Imelda turned away with a smile, and she watched the women quickly make their way toward the exit. She watched Coco and Julio talk, and watched Coco smile as Julio kissed her.

Her smile faded as she remembered her own wedding, her own smile as Hector had kissed her in that same soft way. As if it had been a dream that he might wake up from.

“No,” Imelda said softly to herself. “Not like me at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	22. 1974 - Part 1

Compared to living, death was strangely...anticlimactic.

Ever since she left the Land of the Living (dying in her sleep...even that had been anticlimactic), it had been so slow. Crossing the bridge, arriving in the Department of Family Reunions, everything had been...slow.

In the Department, though, was a different story.

“Okay, Senora,” the woman at the desk said brightly. “Imelda Rivera, formerly Diaz, age seventy-five, one child, still living. All of that sound correct?”

Imelda nodded, tapping her fingers against her leg, wanting to move on so she could leave. 

“Great!” The woman said. “Well, it looks like you have a few relatives here, so we’ll just contact them and get them down here to take you home.”

Imelda’s eyes widened. “Wait, what do you mean ‘a few relatives’?”

“Isabela Diaz, mother,” the woman read from her paper. “Antonio Diaz, father. Both have been deceased for over twenty years, so they should be well settled. Shall I give them a call for you?”

“No!” Imelda said quickly. “My parents and I didn’t get along in the living world, I doubt we would get along very well here, either.”

Imelda started to stand, but the woman stopped her. “There is one more relative, Senora. Hector Rivera, husband, deceased-”

“No,” Imelda said, a bit quieter this time. “I don’t want anything to do with my husband, either. So I think I’ll be settling myself here.”

“Senora, are you sure?” The woman looked uncertain. “Death can be an adjustment, and it’s much easier with a loved one to-”

“None of those people you named are particularly loved by me,” Imelda said bluntly. “So it will be much easier for me to get settled in by myself. Thank you for your help.”

Imelda walked away before the woman could say anything else. Walking out onto the street, she looked around. The woman wasn’t wrong - being in this world was an adjustment. During Imelda’s life, she had seen several advancements of society and life in general: new technologies, new ways of transportation, even new ways of making shoes. But here, the old blended with new things she barely had names for. She wasn’t even sure how to get a place to live in this place, let alone how to make a living or navigate this new world. 

She hesitated, and nearly turned back to the Department of Family Reunions to ask where exactly she was supposed to go. Then, she shook her head. 

_ No, _ she thought.  _ I’ve figured everything else out on my own. I can do this, too _ .

Sofia had died two years ago. Imelda was still near the Santa Cecilia entrance; someone around here had to know Sofia. 

She walked over to a man sitting by a store. “Excuse me, Senor?”

“Yes, Senora?” The man said. 

“I’ve just arrived here, and I’m looking for my friend,” she said. “Do you know Sofia Casal? Or you might know her as Sofia Hernandez?”

The man shook his head. “I haven’t heard anyone with that name.”

Imelda sighed. “Tha-”

“Imelda?” A voice interrupted.

Imelda turned and saw Sofia’s husband, Oscar, behind her with a basket. “Oscar!”

She hurried toward him, and he hugged her. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” Imelda said. “Where’s Sofia?”

“She’s at home,” Oscar said. “She’ll be jumping out of her seat as soon as she hears that you’re here. Can you stop by? Or do you need to get settled in?”

“I don’t really know where I’m supposed to settle in at, so I can stop by,” Imelda said. 

“Oh, well, we can help with that, too,” Oscar said, smiling. He gestured over his shoulder. “We live right over here, I’ll show you.”

She followed Oscar only a few blocks down the street before he stopped at a small row house. He opened the door and called out for Sofia.

“We have a visitor I think you’ll want to see!”

Imelda heard the sound of hurrying feet before she saw Sofia come around the corner. She stopped short, and Imelda smiled. 

“Imelda?” Sofia asked as if she was unsure, but she was already hurrying over and embracing Imelda.

“Oh, I missed you so much,” Imelda exclaimed.

“I missed you, too,” Sofia said. “Oh, I can’t believe you’re here. When did you get here?”

“Just today,” Imelda said. 

“So you don’t have a place to live yet?” Sofia asked. Imelda shook her head. “Well, that’s easy. We can go down the street and get you a place. Just let me get ready.”

Imelda waited while Sofia put on a day dress and accessories. She watched in fascination while Sofia fastened her earrings to the edge of her hair. Imelda lifted a bony hand and felt her own hair and the absence of ears. She hadn’t realized how much of being dead she would have to adapt to.

“There, are you ready?” Sofia asked, grabbing her bag from the table. 

“Sofia, I don’t have any money,” Imelda said. “How am I going to buy a house?”

Sofia waved a hand. “You won’t need it. All you have to do here is claim a house and report your address. There’s a perfect place for you just around the corner.”

Imelda followed Sofia out onto the street and down the bustling sidewalk. When they turned the corner, Imelda knew exactly which house Sofia had been talking about.

And she was right. It was perfect.

It stood alone, with two floors. She could see, even from here, that the bottom floor was a type of workshop. 

“Was I right?” Sofia asked. “You can still make your shoes, and you can live right above the place. Bedrooms are kind of redundant here, because we don’t really need to sleep, but there are four bedrooms and a kitchen. It’s such a nice place, Imelda.”

“Have you been inside?” Imelda asked.

“Oscar and I looked at it when we got here,” Sofia said. “It wasn’t right for us, but I knew it would be just right for you when you got here.”

“That was nearly five years ago, Sofia,” Imelda said. “How is it still available?”

Sofia looked away, and ran a hand through her hair. “Well...I may have moved a few things in, just to make it look like someone lived there. No one bothered to check.”

“Sofia!” Imelda admonished, but she smiled. Of course Sofia would have done that.

“I couldn’t risk someone taking it if I was this close to having you nearly next door,” Sofia said. 

When they walked in, Imelda looked around the empty workshop space. It was almost the exact same shape as the one in the Rivera hacienda in Santa Cecilia. Imelda could imagine the tables set up for sewing shoes and forming the soles, and she was suddenly filled with so much love and homesickness that if she could have cried anymore, her eyes would have been filled with tears.

“I love it, Sofia,” Imelda said. “I really do.”

Sofia hugged her, and then smiled, “Then we have some work to do.”

* * *

It took weeks to track down the furniture needed to finish the house, but Imelda quickly realized that it felt like time moved differently in the Land of the Dead.

The day after they finished the house was Imelda’s first Dia de los Muertos, and Imelda was trying to hide her excitement.

Sofia popped around with a bouquet of golden marigolds, her face popping through the flowers. “Happy Dia de Muertos, Imelda!”

Imelda laughed and took the flowers from her. She laid them on the small table by the front door, and then took Sofia’s outstretched arm. “So how does this work?”

The sun was beginning to set, and crowds were flowing in one direction down the street. Imelda tried not to cringe when she heard music pouring from what seemed like every window and doorway. 

“Well, we have to go through the gates where they check for our pictures,” Sofia rolled her eyes. “It takes forever, but then we just cross the bridge and go visit our families. Oscar always wants to make it back to go with his friends to Ernesto’s Sunrise Spectacular.”

Imelda froze. “Ernesto’s what?”

“He does a big concert every year at the end of the holiday,” Sofia said. “I went once, but I was so uncomfortable after everything that happened. Oscar’s friends always have tickets and he goes with them.”

Imelda gritted her teeth. Even in  _ death _ , she couldn’t escape that damn bastard.

They reached the gates, and Imelda went through the lengthy process of the workers scanning her and looking for her picture. While she waited to be let through, she saw a man in shabby clothes approach the worker one row over.

She watched, unable to hear what they were saying. The worker shook her head at the man apologetically, and the man looked like he was about to walk away when a van crashed into the light pole on the sidewalk. Everyone turned toward the crash while Imelda kept her eyes on the man. Something about him was familiar…

The man darted a look at the worker, who was distracted and heading over to the crash, before he took off running toward the bridge.

Imelda, having been let through, walked toward the bridge just as the man was caught and dragged back by security. As he passed, they locked eyes and Imelda felt frozen.

_ Hector _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back again...after a four month absence.
> 
> Thanks for reading this long overdue chapter!


	23. 1974 - Part 2

For the next two days, Imelda tried to pretend she hadn’t seen him. 

It was just someone who looked like him.

It was some other man who didn’t have a picture on an ofrenda.

He just happened to have the same brown eyes and the same thin face.

It wasn’t Hector.

It wasn’t Hector.

It wasn’t Hector.

But Imelda knew what she had seen. She had seen Hector’s eyes in that face, saw them widen as he recognized her, and seen him try to struggle out of the guard’s arms to chase after her as she hurried across the bridge.

Of course, she had known that he was probably here. She had never heard a word from him, even after Ernesto died, and eventually she had started assuming that he had died somewhere after he left her. He would have been seventy-four himself when she died, and plenty of men died before their seventy-fifth birthdays. The woman at the department had also said his name when listing her deceased relative. She had known it was a possibility that he was somewhere near there.

She just hadn’t thought she would have to see him so soon.

Back at her new house over a cup of tea (which she still didn’t entirely understand how she could drink), she told all of this to Sofia.

“Have you seen him since you’ve been here?” Imelda asked.

Sofia took a sip of her tea and paused. Then, she nodded slowly. “Yes, I did. I talked to him once or twice.”

Imelda frowned. “How long has he been here?”

Sofia shrugged. “I’m not sure. Longer than me. Longer than Oscar. And he still looks young, if you look closely at him.”

Imelda rubbed her fingers on the sides of her tea cup and stayed silent. 

“Imelda,” Sofia said softly. “I think you should talk to him.”

“Why?” Imelda said, a little sharper than she intended. “I don’t owe him anything.”

“No,” Sofia agreed. “But don’t you think he owes you an explanation?”

Imelda shook her head. “No.”

And it was the truth, really. She didn’t feel like he owed her anything; she hadn’t felt like that in fifty years. She had thought of him every day, more often with anger than not. But owing her an explanation? No, she had never wanted that.

“Like I said, I’ve talked to him,” Sofia said, watching Imelda’s face. “I...I don’t know what to believe, but I think you should hear what he has to say.”

Imelda shook her head again, more vehemently than before. “I’m not ready for that, and I am sure he’s not ready to hear what I have to say to him. I don’t want to see him, or talk to him, or even  _ think _ about him for the rest of my death. End of conversation.”

Sofia stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, what are we going to do about this house?”

* * *

As much as she tried, Imelda couldn’t stop thinking about what Sofia had said. There were days when maybe she did think she should talk to Hector; there were some days where she almost set out to find him. Then there were other days where she cursed his name and completely ignored the fact that he existed somewhere out there in the Land of the Dead. He was always there, though, in the back of her mind. Much like he had been while she was living, too.

She thought and thought of what the right thing to do would be. She was thinking of it when a knock sounded at her door. She kept thinking as she walked to the door. Would it be better to talk to him? Or better to ignore him? She hated to admit it, but she just didn’t know what the right answer was anymore.

All of her thinking went out of her mind when she saw who waited on the other side.

Hector, dressed rather shabbily in a tattered jacket and pants, a straw hat on top of his head. She glanced down quickly at his feet and registered the lack of shoes.

“Imelda,” he started, but she cut him off with a slam of the door.

She rested her forehead against the closed door, and took a deep breath. Not here, she thought. Not  _ now _ . She wasn’t ready for this. 

He knocked again, and the sound reverberated through her skull, still resting on the door. “Imelda, please, can we talk?”

Part of her wanted to talk to him. The tiny part of her that was still eighteen and in love wanted so badly to hear what he had to say. But the bigger part of her, the part that had lived fifty years without him and had been sowed in sadness and fear, didn’t care one bit what he had to say.

Where the two parts met, however, was nothing but pure anger.

She yanked the door open, and Hector’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to talk, but she held her hand up. “There isn’t anything to talk about. Get away from my house.”

She started to close the door again, but he pushed his hand back against it and kept it open with surprising strength. “Imelda, please let me explain.”

“There isn’t anything  _ to  _ explain,” Imelda snapped.

“You don’t understand-”

“I don’t understand?  _ I  _ don’t understand?” Imelda said, her voice rising to a shrieking pitch. “What I understand is that you’re just trying to talk yourself out of this and make yourself feel better for hurting me like you did every time we fought in life. Let me tell you what you don’t understand: There is nothing to explain. There is absolutely nothing you could say that would make fifty years of pain, and anger, and fear, and sadness go away. So just leave. It’s what you’re best at anyway.”

He flinched as if she had struck him, and she saw for the first time what Sofia was talking about. He did look young - much younger than her. She tried to close the door again, but his hand held true. 

“Imelda, I can beg if you want me to,” Hector said, his voice quiet. “I just want one chance. Five minutes to explain, and then I’ll leave.”

Imelda closed her eyes and sighed. “I’ll give you a minute.”

He was visibly relieved, and Imelda had to cross her arms to keep that eighteen-year-old part of her at bay. 

“I never meant to leave you alone,” Hector said. “I can understand why you’re...upset with me about the fact that you were stuck on your own with a baby. I’m sure Ernesto told you-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Imelda said, holding up a hand. “You think this is about you not coming back?”

Hector frowned slightly. “I...yes?”

Imelda laughed. “It was never about you not coming back. You think I’m that spiteful that I would do all of this just because you  _ died _ ?”

“Well, I assumed Ernesto would have told you, but yes, I thought that you would maybe leave me off the ofrenda because you were angry,” Hector said earnestly.

“Ernesto didn’t tell me a damn thing,” Imelda said. “Well, he told me that you had left, and seeing you now, I’m inclined to believe him.”

Now Hector truly looked like she had struck him, and the part of Imelda that had been angry enough to tear up the only picture of her husband, angry enough to ban music for an entire  _ family _ was disgustingly pleased with the look on his face. 

“Imelda, I didn’t come back because I died,” Hector said. “I got food poisoning and couldn’t come back.”

“And how do I know you didn’t die after you left Ernesto?” Imelda said. “It could have been months, or years later. Food poisoning can happen anywhere or any time.”

“You should know because I’m telling you!” Hector exclaimed, his voice finally snapping into that hard, annoyed place that she had rarely heard. 

“And your word is always true?” Imelda responded. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hector snapped at her.

Imelda took a step back. “I told you, it was never about you not coming back. It was about you leaving in the first place.”

“You agreed to the tour-”

“Not that one,” Imelda said. “I never agreed to that one, if you can remember. I told you I didn’t want you to go, and it would take you away from us for too long. You used to always listen when I told you I didn’t like something, but that tour...all you did was come home and tell me you were going anyway. I told you I didn’t like it, and you left anyway. After that, how am I supposed to trust a word you say?”  
She stopped and took a deep breath. Hector stood there, his mouth hanging slightly open

“Honestly, I understood it back then. Here you were, a twenty-one-year-old man who wanted to play for the world, but you were stuck at home with a baby and a wife who told you to give it all up-”

“That is not how I felt,” Hector interrupted, an angry look in his eyes.  _ Ah _ , Imelda thought.  _ I remember hitting this nerve _ .

It didn’t stop her. “Why wouldn’t you want to leave if given the chance? Ernesto was everything you wanted to be, and that tour offered you the chance to go live that dream if only you didn’t have me and Coco tying you down.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Imelda,” Hector snapped. “I never regretted marrying you, Imelda, I regretted what I did to your life.”

“What you did to my life?” Imelda asked, feigning ignorance. “What exactly are you referring to?”

“I pulled you away from everything you ever knew,” Hector said. “Money, your family, the future you should have had. I never regretted you, but I regret what I did that set you up to be on your own when I died.”

“You pulled me away?” Imelda said, ignoring the familiarity of this argument. “Hector, I walked away from it! I walked away from it with you, and I knew what I was doing with every step. Don’t make it seem like I didn’t have a choice. I did, and I chose you.”

She stopped, and took a deep breath before saying:

“You’re the one that didn’t choose me.”

Hector took one step toward her. “Imelda-”

“You can live with the consequences,” Imelda said. “And like I said, this conversation is over.”

She took a final step back and slammed the door. She pressed her back against the door and listened to see if he would knock again.

The sound never came, and she sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest.

* * *

He came by three more times, and each time she sent him away.

Attempt #1: “I have nothing else to say to you, Hector.”

Attempt #2: “I wanted nothing to do with you in my life, and I want nothing to do with you in death, either.”

Attempt #3: “There is nothing to fix, Hector. Just leave me alone.”

After the third time, he finally did as she asked.

She was there ten years before Oscar and Felipe joined her in the afterlife. Oscar was first; Felipe followed less than two weeks after. Together, they began building Rivera Zapateria into a powerhouse shoe supplier in the Land of the Dead as well as the Living. 

They were all surprised when only a year later Victoria joined them at barely thirty-five years old. Car accident, she said. Imelda tried to imagine the pain Coco was feeling at outliving a child, and then stopped, not being able to comprehend that idea.

It was nearly fifteen more years before Rosita joined them, and then five more until Julio. Soon enough Imelda had nearly all the family that she had had when she was alive. She waited and waited for the day Coco might finally arrive, but the years kept going and her Coco kept living. 

She saw Hector a handful more times, but he never approached her. He looked shabbier and shabbier each time, and she sometimes felt a small pang of concern for him. Where was he living? Who was he living with? Did he not have any other clothes?

She never ran into Ernesto. He was a big star here as much as he had been in life, but Imelda found it surprisingly easy to continue her music ban on this side of the marigold bridge. 

Her life in death continued as it had in life: shoemaking, family time, and tea with Sofia. 

That is, until her great-great-grandson crossed the bridge and threw them all into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo for the first update of 2021!
> 
> I plan for this to be the year that I finally finish this fic, which I am still so surprised to be on chapter 23 of what was supposed to be a ten chapter story. Thank you so much for reading, and we're in the final stretch! Only two more chapters to go!


	24. 2017 - Part 1

Once the marigolds settled and Miguel had disappeared, Imelda settled back on her heels and exhaled. She was vaguely aware of Hector’s hand still in hers, the petal that had sent Miguel home still clutched in both of their fingers. 

It was only when he spasmed again that she realized their problems were not over. 

“Hector!” She exclaimed, clutching his hand tighter. Her family--_ their _family--gathered around them, and she realized that her show of emotion would normally be embarrassing to her. But Hector was the exception to every rule she had ever made herself.

She held his hand as he spasmed again and again, his mouth unable to form words through his pain. She waited with him for what felt like hours, constantly asking herself how long the final death could possibly take. 

Slowly, the spasms were shorter and farther in between them until they stopped altogether. She looked up at Hector’s face and saw his eyes slowly opening. She didn’t dare speak, she barely even dared to breathe until his eyes were fully open and they were looking straight at her. 

“Imelda?” He said, his voice a little raspy. “Am I dead?”  
Imelda thought that if she could cry, she would have been bawling just hearing him speak. She heard a couple small sighs behind her, but she ignored them and threw her arms around Hector, much like she had just minutes ago when she ran off the stage. 

She felt him hesitate, and then softly hug her back. “I assume that’s a no? Or, I guess a yes, but not in the way I thought I was going to be dead.”

Imelda laughed and stood up away from him. She offered him her hand, and he took it and stood beside her. It was only then that she fully remembered that her family, including her now smirking brothers, were standing behind her, waiting for what she would do.

She thought about it. There was no way she could send him away this time. Knowing what she knew now, it had changed everything. But invite him into their home? Into their family? Was it really just their family since it was also his? He knew nothing about any of them, except for Imelda, Oscar, and Felipe. 

She realized with a start that she really didn’t know him anymore, either. He had been gone ninety-seven years. Unlike her, he had spent all ninety-seven of those years here in the Land of the Dead. She didn’t know what he had been doing, or who he had been spending time with. She didn’t know anything about him.

Furthermore, did she even want to know him anymore? She had always told Sofia, always told everyone that she had no interest in being married again. Before Hector, she had had no interest in marriage at all. Having a relationship again after ninety-seven years just seemed...ridiculous. 

She heard Felipe clear his throat behind her, knocking her out of her reverie. She noticed she had subconsciously taken a step away from Hector and dropped his hand. Her family was waiting on her decision, but she couldn’t make it right now. Not after going through everything they had gone through tonight. So she sighed, and said the words she had said to him more than a lifetime ago: “Walk me home?”

* * *

They all walked to the house in silence. She could tell they all wanted to ask questions, but they weren’t questions she was prepared to answer. When they reached the door, however, she knew a decision had to be made. Her family started to walk toward the door, and Hector stopped. She could tell that, much like her, he was remembering the day forty-three years ago when she had told him to stay away from her. 

She looked away and down at the ground, waiting for an answer to come to her. And then, seeing Hector’s feet, it finally did.

“You can come inside,” Imelda said. The rest of the Riveras froze in their tracks, eyes opened wide. “It will be hard to make you a pair of shoes if you’re out here.”

“I don’t-” Hector began to protest, but she held up a hand.

“You’re a Rivera, I can’t have you walking around barefoot all the time,” Imelda said. “It will look bad on our business.”

Hector looked down at his feet, and then smiled sheepishly at her. He shrugged. “I guess I could do with some new shoes.”

“The workshop’s right inside the door,” she said, taking a step forward. “Everyone else will be going to bed after that long night.”

She said the second part with a pointed glance at her brothers. The family quickly nodded and scattered off, leaving Hector and Imelda. Hector started shaking his head. “I don’t need them that badly. You should get some sleep, too.”

Imelda cut him off. “I couldn’t sleep right now if I wanted to, Hector. Could you?”

He relented. “No, probably not.”

“Then let’s get inside,” she said, going to the door and holding it open for him. 

He hesitated, but followed her in. She flipped the light on in the workshop right off the entryway and breathed in the calming scent of leather and rubber soles. She started pulling out tools before realizing Hector was still standing in the doorway, looking around.

She gestured toward a stool in the middle of the room. “Sit there.”

She turned back to the table in front of her until she heard the creak of the wood as he sat on it. He looked nervous, and she almost laughed. Instead, she came over with her measuring tape.

“I wear a size eleven,” Hector said. 

“I remember,” Imelda responded automatically. It was one of many things she had never forgotten. “But that was when you had skin, and muscles, and tendons to take up space. Now you’re probably a ten, or maybe a nine and a half.”

“I’ve always been an eleven,” he said, looking down at his feet.

“When you were alive,” Imelda said with a half-smile. “Just wait.”

She pulled out the measuring tape and measured his foot. Then, she pinched the tape where it ended on his foot and showed him. “See? Size ten.”

He looked at it with such an incredulous look that she couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “But don’t worry. We use your living size and just add padding. The shoe stays on your foot better that way.”

She stepped away, and he said, “So in other words, you just wanted to prove you were right.”

“Exactly,” Imelda said. She worked in silence, pulling out materials. 

It was a few minutes before he spoke again. “I’ve always wondered something.”

“What?” Imelda asked him as she gathered her tools and brought them over to a table closer to him.

“Why shoes?” He asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Why do you want to know?” Imelda asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve just always wondered why you picked shoes as your career.”

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t really pick shoes. They just...happened.”

“What do you mean?” Hector asked.

She looked at him, at his curious eyes, and sighed. “Well, when the money started to run out, I started trying to find a job. I asked everyone in town, and they all said no. Senor Gomez, the shoemaker, he was the only one who said yes.”

She watched his face as she said this, then bent to his feet to fit the sole of the shoe against his foot and continued. “I guess he thought I was pretty good at it, and he gave me his business when he retired. I pulled Oscar and Felipe into it with me, and Coco when she was old enough. Everyone else joined in, and shoes became the Rivera business. I never intended for it to be my job forever, but it put money in our pockets and it was easy.”

She finished with a shrug and pulled up a stool across from him as she started the sole into the base of the shoe. 

“So I know Felipe and Oscar, obviously,” Hector said. “But I’m afraid we didn’t get to any introductions tonight, and I’m a bit lost on who’s who.”

Imelda looked up at him. She hadn’t even thought about that. “Well, the other man is Julio. He’s Coco’s husband.”

Hector’s eyes widened. “Coco has a husband?”

Imelda laughed, more loudly than she had in a long time. “Miguel is your great-great-grandson, Hector. He had to come from somewhere, and we only had one child.”

“I know, I just always picture her as a three-year-old,” Hector said. She could hear the note of sadness in his voice. “The thought of her as an adult with a husband...it’s going to take some adjustment.”

“The shorter woman is Julio’s sister, Rosita,” Imelda said. “She joined us when Coco and Julio got married.”

“And the last one?” Hector asked. 

“That’s Victoria,” Imelda said. “Your granddaughter.”

“Coco had a daughter?” He said.

“Two, actually,” Imelda said. “Elena is still in the Land of the Living. She’s Miguel’s grandmother. Then she had three children.”

Hector rested his chin on his hand. “We have a very big family.”

“Yes, we do,” Imelda said, somewhat wary of where the conversation might be headed.

Hector was silent for a moment, then said: “I’m sorry I missed out on it all.”

Imelda’s hands paused mid-stitch. “It’s not your fault.”

He sighed. “It is, partly. I could have stayed, just like you said.”

She shook her head. “Hector, I shouldn’t have-”

“You should have,” he said. “It was all true, every word you said.”

She looked down at her hands. “I called you selfish and tried to say you didn’t love me or Coco. Now that I know what really happened, I wouldn’t say that was true.”

“Well, maybe not that part,” Hector said, a half-smile on his face. “But the rest of it...you had every right--_ have _every right--to be angry at me, Imelda. I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to get out right now.”

“I told you I was angry because you left in the first place,” Imelda said. “But you realized your mistake, Hector. You tried to come back, less than two months after you left. You _ died _ trying to come back to us. Do you really think I would still be angry even after knowing that?”

“It’s more than that, Imelda,” Hector said, his voice bordering on misery. “I wasn’t a good husband. Or a good father.”

“You were,” Imelda insisted, vaguely recalling her argument with Sofia all those years ago where she had said nearly the exact same thing. “When you were there.”

He was silent, and she continued to work, more tensely than before. When the sole was finished, she cut a piece of brown leather for the sides. 

“I’m sorry, Imelda,” Hector said. “For everything.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Imelda said, even though the words tasted like lies in her mouth. Here he was, saying the words that she had never realized (or never admitted) that she wanted. 

“I do,” he said. “Imelda, I owe you an apology, I owe you a thousand apologies. I was an idiot-”

“You were a child,” Imelda said. “We both were. We were kids who had to grow up too fast. If I blamed you for that-”

“That’s not an excuse,” Hector said. “Being young isn’t an excuse for running away. You were young, too, and you didn’t run away. You built a life, and a business.”

Imelda closed her eyes and sighed. “Hector. I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t angry about you leaving. I was...more than angry. But can you really not see the difference between you leaving and dying and you leaving, realizing you shouldn’t have left, and then dying before you could come back?”

“It seems like it should be the same thing,” Hector said, and Imelda was shaking her head before he finished.

“It’s not,” she said. “It’s not the same thing at all.”

He didn’t reply, but she could tell from the look on his face that he was sitting in his guilt and stewing. She glanced at him as she sewed his shoes, fighting with herself on whether or not to say anything, until he spoke again.

“How long will this take?”

She fixed him with a stare. “Excuse me?”

“The faster these get done, the faster I can leave you alone,” he said, looking away from her. 

“Do you think I want that?” Imelda asked, putting the shoe aside with a harder force than she intended.

He didn’t move. “I would, if I were you. Like I said, you have every right to be furious with me-”

“And I said, I’m not anymore,” she snapped. “I cannot possibly be angry at you for something that wasn’t your fault!”

“You should be!” Hector snapped back. “I’m angry at myself, and I don’t understand how you’re not just as angry or angrier. Ernesto took everything away from me, and I will never get that back. I missed everything about your life, and Coco’s life, and that makes me furious because I was the one who made the choice to go with him.”

“You’re misunderstanding me, Hector,” Imelda said. “Ernesto is the one I’m angry at. I’ve been angry at Ernesto for nearly a hundred years, Hector. I will never stop being angry at Ernesto. But you? I can’t be angry at you anymore, Hector. Not for that. Although you’re pushing me very quickly into being angry about this conversation.”

She stood and crossed the short distance to where he sat. She hesitated for a moment, then covered his hand with hers. 

He went still at the touch, and she almost backed away, but then his other hand covered hers. “I wish I had been there, Imelda. For everything.”

“You’re here now,” she said. “And that’s enough.”

He took a deep breath, and then nodded. Then, he finally looked her in the eyes, and she felt that familiar light feeling that she hadn’t felt since she was twenty-two years old. She pulled her hand away quickly and picked up the shoe again. She sat down across from him, ignoring the puzzled look on his face. 

He seemed to think better of asking her about her sudden shift in mood, and cleared his throat. “So is there anything else I missed?”

She laughed, not missing the relieved smile on Hector’s face at the sound. “That’s a broad question for someone who’s been dead ninety-seven years.”

“I’m talking about your life now,” he said. “Not Coco’s, and not the family’s.”

She looked down at the stitches she had just made in the shoe. She could tell what he was really asking, and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to answer. 

“My life was...fairly boring,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I worked, I raised Coco, and I spent time with Sofia and my family. By all accounts, an average, uneventful life.”

He kicked his foot absently against the stool. “So you never got remarried?”

“Don’t you think he would have been here with me by now?” Imelda said. “Besides, I told you a long time ago, I never had any interest in marriage. That didn’t change after you lef-died. After you died.”

She mentally cursed herself for the slip, but changing her way of thinking after so many years would take time. He didn’t seem to notice, though. “I wasn’t sure if Diego would have come back after I was out of the picture.”

She scoffed. “Absolutely not. He tried, but I told him no.”

There was a pause, and then Hector said, “What about now?”

Her hands slowed. “What exactly do you mean?”  
“What are your thoughts on marriage now,” Hector said. “Or even just a relationship.”

“Hector-” Imelda started, but he held up both hands.

“I’m not asking you to decide right now,” he said quickly. “I’m just curious, Imelda. You know I would never push you like that.”

She sighed. She did know, but she wasn’t going to admit that to Hector. She turned away from him and said, “I...I don’t know how I feel about it now.”

“If it makes you feel better," Hector said. "It's not something I've spent a long time thinking about either."

Imelda didn't look at him as she said, “I just don’t know, Hector. I spent fifty years being told that you never loved me like I thought you did, and fifty more years convincing myself that it must have been true. I can forgive you now, that’s easy. But I don’t know if I could just start back where we left off. I’m not even sure I want to.”

“I understand-”

“I want to make sure you do,” Imelda said, slowly turning back toward him. “Because I’ve gotten used to doing everything by myself. I raised a child by myself, I ran a business by myself, I bought a _ hacienda _ by myself. Not having to do everything by myself...I don’t know if I would know what to do anymore, Hector.”

“I do understand, Imelda,” Hector said. “And I’m not going to pressure you.”

“Plus,” Imelda continued on, not hearing him. “There’s less pressure on us this time around.”

Hector paused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the first time, we only got married when we did because we had to,” she said. “Can you honestly say we would have gotten married as quickly as we did if we had had a few more years to decide?”

He frowned, but didn’t say anything. 

“I just don’t know if that’s what I want anymore,” Imelda said. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Imelda,” Hector said, smiling softly at her. 

She didn’t look back at him, but she sat the shoes aside and said, “These won’t be done until tomorrow. Do you want to stay? We have a spare room.”

He hesitated, then nodded and said with a smile, “I’ll stay however long you want me, Imelda.”

She tried not to smile back, but failed, and she mentally cursed herself. _No_, she thought. _I'm not going to let this happen again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter...we're so close to the end! Get ready for a monster chapter next time because there is so much more of this story I have to tell and I only have one more chapter to tell it in! Thanks for reading!


	25. 2017 - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really cannot believe I'm saying this - this is the final chapter of the longest fic I have ever written. I love this little story so much, and I am so happy that I've had so many readers along for the ride. As promised, this is a MONSTER chapter - more than double my usual chapter length, but I had to cover a lot of ground. I hope you enjoy this final chapter of Ante Ruinam!
> 
> (Notes at the end for a little surprise)

Imelda sat at her dressing table the next morning, braiding her hair and pinning it back like every other morning. But this morning, her hands shook as she remembered the houseguest in the downstairs room.

She had gotten too close last night. Too close to letting him back in, too close to starting everything again that had destroyed her in the first place. She sighed, looking at herself in the mirror. She had to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that a relationship was completely off the table. 

With every hair in place and her dress as neat as it could possibly be, Imelda headed down the stairs. She could hear her family’s voices as she normally did every morning. Rosita’s fussing over breakfast, Julio’s quiet murmur, Victoria’s more serious tone, and her brothers’ voices, slightly uplifted at the end as if they found everything amusing...and another, even more familiar voice mixed in.

She swore she could feel her heart seize up at the sound of Hector’s voice mixing seamlessly in with the rest of the family. It made sense, she guessed. He was part of the family after all. 

She froze on the stairs, not wanting to take another step toward the kitchen. She couldn’t face it, couldn’t face  _ him _ after last night. So instead of turning left toward the kitchen, she ducked right into the workshop to finish the shoes.

As soon as she passed the threshold, she inhaled the comforting smell of leather. Everything else seemed smaller and farther away when she was in this room. The half-finished shoes from last night sat on the workbench, and she picked one up. 

As her hands worked at the shoes, her mind returned to the conversation they had had last night. She didn’t blame him for looking confused; she had confused herself, even. But she needed to make it clear to him (and partly to herself): she had no interest in being in a relationship again. If that meant he left again...then so be it.

She worked for an hour, pushing herself so that her mind didn’t have time to think about other things. Nothing broke her focus until she heard a slightly timid knock on the doorway. She turned around and saw Hector standing there, smiling.

“They weren’t kidding about how much you work,” Hector said. He set his hat down on a stool and leaned against one of the workbenches. 

“I hate leaving a project unfinished,” she said. She tied off the final stitch, and set the shoes down as a pair. “There. A pair of custom Rivera shoes.”

She handed them to Hector, and he smiled even wider as he put them on. “They’re a perfect fit, Imelda.”

“I knew they would be,” Imelda said smugly, then crossed her arms. “Listen, Hector, we need to talk.”

“That...doesn’t sound good,” he said. “What about?”

“About us,” Imelda said. She sighed. “I need to make this very clear. I don’t want to be in a relationship anymore. I’ve gotten used to being on my own, and I’m not looking to change that. I worry that I might have confused you, or given you the wrong idea last night.”

“Okay,” Hector said slowly.

“It’s fine if you want to leave because of that,” Imelda said. “I know that it has to be jarring to suddenly have an entire family surrounding you. If it’s too hard, then-”

“Do you want me to leave?” Hector said, cocking his head to the side. A look of concern was suddenly in his eyes.

Imelda hesitated. It would be so much easier to tell him yes. She could say yes right now, and never have to worry about him again. She would never have to worry about the vague feeling of anger that leaked into every memory she had of him and soured any hope she had of creating new ones. She would never have to consider what the light, fluttering feeling in her chest that made her feel like she was fourteen again and being swept off her feet by a street musician meant for her now. 

She sighed, and said, “I think you should be able to get to know your family, and they would probably like the chance to get to know you.”

“That’s great,” Hector said, one side of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. “But I was asking what  _ you _ want.”

“I have to think about my family, Hector,” Imelda said, shaking her head. She had been thinking of only her family for ninety-seven years, and he expected her to stop now?

“Be selfish, this one time, Imelda,” he said.

She laughed. “I was selfish one time, one  _ day _ , in my whole life, Hector, and it ended up with an entire family ignoring music and almost causing you to disappear forever. Things don’t turn out well when I act selfishly.”

“Well, if it turns out badly, then I’ll know who to blame,” Hector said. “But I want to know: do you want me to leave? Because if you say the word, I’m gone, Imelda. I made the mistake of not listening to you once before, I won’t do it again.”

She looked at him, at his eyes sheepishly looking slightly to the side of her, and she sighed. “No, I want you to stay.”

He smiled. “Then can we at least be friends? Like we were when we were kids, Imelda.”

For a split second, it wasn’t a skeleton who had been dead for almost a hundred years looking at her. It was a tall, skinny twelve-year-old boy sitting on an old wooden bench in the plaza, asking if they could be friends.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I think I would like that very much.”

* * *

Sofia was shocked, to say the least, when Imelda and Hector both appeared on her doorstep later that day.

Her shock soon turned to joy, however, and she exclaimed, “Hector!” before hugging him.

“Sofia, looking beautiful as always,” Hector said, lifting her off her feet. Imelda laughed softly and shook her head at them as Oscar came in the doorway behind them with a puzzled look on his face.

“You must be the man who swept Sofia off her feet?” Hector said, holding out his hand to Oscar. 

“I suppose I am,” Oscar said, meeting Hector’s hand in a handshake. “And who would you be?”

“I’m Hector Rivera,” he said. “Imelda’s...friend.”

Sofia heard the pause and widened her eyes at Imelda. She waved her off, not willing to explain everything to her just yet. 

It seemed as if Oscar knew all about Hector and Imelda’s past, though, as his eyes narrowed slightly and he responded with, “Oh.”

“It’s been so long since I saw Sofia, so I begged Imelda to bring me,” Hector said. “I’ve only been here once since I died, you see.”

Oscar seemed flustered by Hector’s vibrancy and willingness to talk, and Imelda stepped forward. “Didn’t you say you had somewhere you needed to go, Hector?”

Hector looked over at her, then nodded. “Oh, yes, I’m going to visit some old friends. They’re probably concerned about me, as I’m sure news about last night has already reached them. I just walked with Imelda this far, so I’ll leave you ladies to your conversation.”

He tipped his hat to them and turned down the street. Oscar looked between the two women, a questioning look on his face.

“Yes, he’s always like that,” Imelda said, answering the unspoken question. “Or, well, he used to be.”

Sofia laughed beside her, and waved Oscar off. “Go meet up with your friends, dear. Imelda and I have quite a bit to talk about, so it may be a while.”

With that, Sofia took Imelda’s arm and pulled her to the kitchen. They sat down at Sofia’s small table. “Okay, I’ve been waiting. Can you please tell me what the hell happened last night? I was in Santa Cecilia so I missed everything.”

Imelda started at the beginning, with Miguel arriving and running off in the Land of the Dead. She finished with her conversation with Hector that morning in the workshop. 

“God, I missed everything fun!” Sofia said, standing up and going to the teapot and angrily pouring tea out of it. She brought the cups back to the table. “So he really was murdered? By Ernesto?”

Imelda’s grip tightened on her cup for just a moment before she nodded.”Ernesto essentially confessed backstage at his show. Not to mention he tried to murder a living child while being filmed in front of thousands of people, so nobody can really put anything past him.”

“So...do you really mean it? You don’t want a relationship anymore?” Sofia asked.

Imelda nodded. “Sofia, I don’t even know what will happen when Coco dies. He may deteriorate and the Final Death might still take him. Miguel got Coco to remember him enough to keep him here, but beyond that we don’t know anything. There’s no picture of him on the ofrenda, and we lost the only picture that he had.”

Sofia shook her head. “No, Imelda, I gave Coco the other piece of your ofrenda picture. In that box, on her wedding day.”

“I can’t hope that Coco hung onto a tiny slip of paper from 1920 for eighty-four years. And Hector isn’t hoping for it, either,” Imelda said. “It’s easier to just...be friends.”

“Right,” Sofia said, drawing the word out. “You don’t sound like it’s really going to be that easy.”

Imelda sighed. “I haven’t seen him in nearly a hundred years, Sofia, and now I’m going to be seeing him every single day. He’s living in my house again, and that’s hard enough. I don’t really need the added pressure of trying to rebuild a marriage with him.”

“But think about it this way,” Sofia said, shrugging her shoulders. “You get a chance to do it right this time.”

“What do you mean?” Imelda asked.

“Don’t think about it as you have to jump back into a relationship with him or you have to write him out of your life completely. You get a chance to do everything again. Get to know him, without your mother bearing down on you the entire time. Decide for yourself if it’s something you want or it’s something that’s better off in the past.”

“I just told you-” Imelda started, but Sofia cut her off.

“I know what you said,” Sofia said. “But you and Hector, even when you were friends, you had all this pressure on you. You were barely able to leave your house, Imelda, and when you did, you always had to worry about someone seeing you with him. Even if you really do decide you just want to be friends, I’m saying maybe you should just...explore the relationship you can have now. No pressure, no secrets, just you and Hector, getting to know each other again.”

Imelda looked down at her cup. It was true, she didn’t really know him anymore. She knew the Hector he had been back in 1921, and he only knew the 1921 version of her, too. “What if he doesn’t want to get to know me again?”

Sofia laughed. “If you think that, then you just need to look at his face when he says your name. He’s practically begging you for a chance. All you have to do is give him one.”

* * *

Later that night, Imelda inside the house, watching Hector outside where he was standing on the porch of the house. He was simply staring out at the road, not moving, with a small smile on his face. She didn’t want to disrupt him, but she needed to say something before she lost whatever nerve Sofia’s talk had given her. 

She pushed open the door, and the creak made Hector turn around before she could say anything. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“Just me?” Imelda said. “Were you expecting someone?”

“No, I just...it’s a little strange, talking to them,” Hector said. “Not the twins, necessarily, because at least I’ve met them. But the others...it’s so strange talking to someone who was never introduced before I died. Or even worse, not even born before I died.”

“It sounded like you were getting along with them this morning,” Imelda said, joining him at the porch railing.

He gave a short laugh. “You know me, Imelda. I can get along with anyone for a little while.”

“Then what’s the problem?” She asked. She realized that maybe this was part of what Sofia had meant, getting to know each other again. The Hector she had known wouldn’t have hesitated to talk to people he barely knew.

“It’s like...I know what they think of me. And I know that when they talk to me, they’re trying to not think those things. They know the truth, but…” He shrugged. “It’s not that easy to let go of first impressions.”

Imelda looked at him, at the sadness in his eyes, and sighed. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’m going to end up saying that a lot now.”

He looked over at her. “It’s my problem, not yours. You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I think you told me a long time ago that my problems are your problems,” Imelda said. “And I think that goes both ways. Especially when it’s a problem that I caused.”

He didn’t say anything, so she continued with what she had come out to do.

“Will you come shopping with my brothers and I tomorrow?” Imelda asked.

“Really?” Hector responded, his eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re part of the family. It’s what we do together,” she said. “And if we’re going to be friends, I would like to get to know the person I’m friends with.”

He smiled, a wide grin that stretched across his face. “So we have to get to know each other again?”

“Well, it’s been about one hundred and five years since the first time, so I would say it’s possible we both might have changed a bit,” Imelda said. 

“I’d be glad to come, Imelda,” Hector said. “I’ll go wherever you want me.”

Imelda smiled softly at that. She couldn’t help it; she thought she might always have a smile for the charms of Hector Rivera.

* * *

The days went by quickly, turned into weeks, and then months, once Hector settled into the daily Rivera family life. 

He participated in each of their activities: he gardened with Rosita, read in the same room with Julio, worked on things around the house with the twins, and cooked with Victoria. Imelda had started trying to teach him to make shoes, but Hector’s energy and inability to stay in one spot for very long made it a very trying job.

“You cannot stitch and walk, Hector,” Imelda huffed one day. “You will end up stabbing yourself with the needle.”

“I can’t bleed anymore,” Hector said, shrugging his shoulder. “Why should it matter?”

“It will be sloppy stitching,” Imelda said, crossing her arms. 

“My mind works better when I’m pacing,” he said, swerving away from her when she tried to grab the piece of fabric he held in his hand.

“Trust me, I remember,” Imelda said. “It drives me crazy.”

“Oh, it does?” Hector said, one corner of his mouth raising into a smirk.

Imelda didn’t respond, but she leaned against the nearest worktable with one arm and tapped her fingers, the other hand resting on her hip. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t pace then,” Hector said, still smirking. “I could just...jog in place.”

He did just that, stopping in the middle of the floor and lifting his feet up one after the other. Imelda watched, suppressing the smile that threatened to show itself.

“Or I could skip,” he said, switching his movements.

Still no smile, but Imelda could feel it growing.

Hector looked at her mid-skip, and he smiled. “Or,” he said, coming over and grabbing her hand. “We could dance.”

He spun her around, and she couldn’t help it anymore. She laughed, throwing her head back as she watched him try to dance with fabric and a needle in his hand. 

“Very funny, Hector,” she said as she came out of a spin. “But if you really want to finish those shoes, you need to sit down.”

“Forget the shoes then,” Hector said, putting the fabric aside. “Because I think right now, I would rather dance.”

He reached for her, but she pushed him away gently. “I still have to get some orders done today, and there is no music to dance to.”

“I don’t think that ever stopped you before,” Hector said, but he stepped away. “But I’ll let you get your work done. I don’t think shoemaking is going to be for me, anyway.”

She laughed. “I think I can agree with that.”

“Do you mind if I leave for a while? I’ve got some friends I need to visit, see how they’re doing,” Hector said.

She waved him off. This was a routine in the same way their daily chores were. Without fail, Hector spent a day every week with...well, Imelda didn’t exactly know who with. She had asked him once, and he simply said they were friends who were like family. She didn’t feel like it was her place to ask where he was going, so she simply let him go. He came back every time, so really what harm was it?

She worked in peace for just a few minutes before she was interrupted again, this time by her brothers. 

“If you’re not here to work, go ahead and leave,” Imelda said. “I have to get some orders done, and I’m already behind.”

They shuffled their feet, but didn’t leave. She sighed and turned to them. “What?”

“We were just wondering,” Oscar said. “What exactly you plan to do about Hector.”

Imelda looked at them and crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Felipe said. “He’s been here for months, and we’ve had to watch you two dance around the fact that you still have feelings for each other.”

Imelda’s jaw dropped, but she composed herself quickly. “What possibly gave you that idea?”

“You spend all this time together,” Oscar said. “You’re teaching him to make shoes, we hear you talking at night after dinner, and we just saw you dancing with him.”

Felipe cut in, “And you’re wearing your hair down again. I don’t think you’ve worn your hair down since you were twenty-something.”

Imelda reached back and touched her hair, which was up in its normal braided updo. But they were right; she had worn her hair down in a simple braid at dinner and when she was walking around the market recently.

“We’re friends,” Imelda said, although she couldn’t really meet their eyes when she said it. “That’s all.”

Oscar hesitated, but Felipe continued. “And, you’re acting happier than you’ve been in a hundred years, Imelda.”

She looked down at her hands. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all,” Oscar hurried to say. “We were young when you and Hector were together, but…”

“We can remember how much happier you were with him than you were at home,” Felipe finished. “And it seems like it’s all happening again.”

Imelda didn’t respond. She couldn’t help but possibly agree with them. She could say she and Hector were friends, but even she had to admit her feelings were leaning closer and closer to wanting to be with him like that again.

“What would everyone think, if I went back on all those years of anger and no music?” Imelda asked. “I’ve spent decades pretending like I hated him when I never really hated him at all. But to go back on what I’ve said for so many years…”

“You’re worried about us losing respect for you?” Oscar said.

Imelda hesitated, then nodded. 

The twins laughed. Oscar recovered first, and said, “Imelda, you built this entire business, this family, by yourself. There is nothing you could do that would make anybody lose their respect for you.”

Felipe nodded. “Especially making yourself happy by being with whoever you want to be with.”

Imelda looked down at her stitching before sighing. “I will...consider it. But I need you two to stay out of my business. Don’t forget, I’m your  _ older  _ sister. It’s not your job to take care of me.”

“Point taken,” Felipe said. “After this, the less we know about your love life, the better.”

Oscar nodded beside him.

Imelda laughed softly, then pointed to the door. “Now that you’re made your point, get out and let me get back to work, or I’m going to make you both do every order by yourselves for the next month.”

The twins hurried out, and Imelda chuckled to herself. They had a point, and she was truthful when she said she would think about it...and the clearest her mind ever was was when she was making shoes.

* * *

“I want to see where you go every week,” Imelda said as Hector put on his shoes to head out the door the next week.

“What?” Hector asked, looking up at her from his seat. She was already dressed to go out, her boots on and her small change purse in the pocket of her apron. She had worn her hair up in its typical style, partly just to spite her brothers.

“It’s important enough to you to keep going every week,” she said. “So I want to see it.”

“It’s not...very pretty,” he said, standing up. 

Imelda shrugged. “I don’t care. I want to go with you today.”

Hector looked conflicted for a moment, then smiled. “Okay, then. Are you ready now?”

She nodded, and he extended his arm out for her to take. She hesitated for a moment, and then looped her arm through his. They left the house and started down the street arm in arm in comfortable silence.

“It’s called Shantytown,” Hector said suddenly. 

“What is?” Imelda asked.

“Where I go every week,” he answered. “It’s where I lived for years. The people there are all the people who are nearly forgotten. We call each other family, and not many people move out of Shantytown. As someone who did, I feel like I need to check up on them.”

He spoke fondly of the place, not sadly. Imelda smiled softly. “I’m excited to meet them. Do they...know about me?”  
Hector nodded. “They do now. When I lived here...some did, some didn’t. I never lied; if someone asked if I was married, I told them I was. They all know I have a daughter, so I think most of them assume I was married.”

“So they don’t think too poorly of me?” Imelda asked.

“Oh no,” Hector said. “I told them all about you when I moved out. I never said a bad word about you, Imelda, so don’t worry about that. I expect most of them will be very excited to finally meet you.”

She frowned. He never said a bad word about her. She wished she could say the same.

It was only a short walk from their house to the rickety stairs leading down to Shantytown. Hector held her hand as they walked down the steps, making sure she didn’t fall, and then they walked together into Shantytown.

Imelda was surprised to find it was on a river, not unlike the one in Santa Cecilia where they had spent so much time as kids. Small shacks lined the river, with a wooden bridge connecting them all. She was looking around when she suddenly heard a crowd of voices calling.

“Cousin Hector!”

Hector smiled and called back to them. “Hi! I brought a friend with me today!”

They got closer and she saw that the group was made up of several old women playing cards, with some younger adults sitting close by. 

“And who is this?” One of the old women asked. 

“Tia, this is my friend, Imelda,” Hector said. He didn’t stutter over the word friend anymore, and Imelda found herself somewhat disappointed that he had gotten so comfortable calling her that instead of his wife. “Imelda, this is Tia Chelo.”

“Hello,” she said politely, shaking the old woman’s hand.

Hector introduced the rest, far too many names for her to remember. He sat down the women and they dealt him a hand of cards. “Would you like to play?” asked one of the old women whose name Imelda couldn’t remember.

“Oh, no thank you,” Imelda said. She had never played any type of cards in her life, and she was sure these women would not want to sit while Imelda tried to learn their games.

“It’s fine,” Hector said. He reached over and pulled her closer, onto a stool right next to him. “She can be my good luck charm. God knows I need it playing with you three gamblers.”

“Always whining about how you lost a little bit of money, Hector,” a woman said teasingly.

“It was my entire week of pay from that job!” Hector said.

Imelda laughed along with the women. They started playing (with no gambling this time), and Imelda found herself leaning against Hector as he quietly explained how the game worked. As the game went on, he let Imelda choose the cards he played. They lost those hands, but Hector just laughed and went on with the game. At the end, Hector lost by quite a few hands, and the old women celebrated gleefully.

“They’re celebrating like they don’t win every single week,” Hector said to Imelda. He fake-pouted, and one of the old women smacked him playfully on the arm. 

“Maybe next week will be your week, Cousin Hector,” she said, then cackled with the other two.

“Yes, yes, very funny,” Hector said, but Imelda could see that he enjoyed being goaded by them. He stood from the table and offered Imelda his hand. “Do you want to take a walk? I can show you around.”

Imelda nodded, then said goodbye to the old women. Hector led her down the bridge, pointing out shacks and the various people he had known who lived in them. He stopped walking when they reached a small dock at the back where no shacks stood and they could just see the clear river. He sat down and put his feet in the water, gesturing for Imelda to join him. She sat and slipped her boots off and dipped her feet in the water.

“They all seem very fond of you,” she said.

He leaned back on his hands. “I’ve been here for longer than most of them. People remember the first friendly face they see when they get to Shantytown, and for most people, that friendly face was me.”

“I’m glad you weren’t alone for all those years,” Imelda said quietly, hinting at the guilt that had plagued her since he showed up on her doorstep for the first time.

“I was definitely not alone,” Hector said, nodding his head. “And it was nice being somewhere that was at least somewhat similar to home.”

He gestured to the river, and Imelda understood. Even she could feel herself relax sitting by this river; it was familiar in a way that sunk in past her bones. The water transported her back to her fourteen, fifteen, sixteen year old self. It made her more comfortable, more willing to talk.

“How hard was it? Living here?” Imelda asked.

He sighed. “Not bad, I guess. I worked some odd jobs here and there, but mostly I just made myself a nuisance around here.”

Imelda looked at him, at the set of his jaw, and she touched his hand. “I know you told me I don’t need to apologize, but I really am sorry that you had to go through that because of me.”

“Imelda-”

“No, I need to say it,” she said, cutting him off. “No matter how much you want to say it wasn’t my fault, it ultimately was. I’m the one who threw everything away, including my wedding ring and your picture. I’m the one who wouldn’t let anyone talk about you. I am the reason you can’t cross the bridge. You apologized, and now it’s my turn. I’m sorry, Hector.”

She had leaned closer to him as she spoke, and she pulled herself back as she finished. He was looking at her, his eyes wide, but he turned back to the water. When he spoke, his voice was thick with tears that he couldn’t shed. “I accept your apology, Imelda. But really, it wasn’t that bad here. I had fun, even if it was hard sometimes.”

She remembered him saying that in regards to his time in the orphanage when they were younger, and she closed her eyes. She sighed harshly, and then said abruptly, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Oh,” Hector said, blinking in surprise and looking over at her. “Well, we can head back home-”

“No,” Imelda said, noticing the way her (nonexistent) heart fluttered when he referred to her house as home. “I mean, this with us.”

His face fell. “Oh…”

“I don’t want to be friends anymore, Hector,” Imelda said. “I want to be  _ us  _ again.”

His face didn’t change, but she saw his eyes light up slightly. “But you said you weren’t ready. That you didn’t want a...relationship anymore.”

“I’m never going to be ready,” Imelda said, pulling her feet up and turning toward him on the dock. “I was never ready the first time around, either, but I don’t want anyone but you. I  _ never _ wanted anyone but you. I want to walk by this river with you holding my hand like we used to.”

He stepped closer and took her hand, but she kept going.

“I want you to be able to introduce me as your wife, not as your friend. I want your face to be the last thing I see every night and the first thing I see every morning,” she said, her voice thick with the tears she couldn’t shed. “Hector, I’m happier than I’ve been in years, all because you’ve been around. Everyone sees it, I just couldn’t see it through my own fear. But I lost so many years with you because of someone else’s selfishness. I don’t want to lose anymore years because of my own.”

Hector stood and pulled her up with him. He moved one step closer to her and took her face in his hands. It felt different, of course, but the gesture was familiar, even after all these years.

Imelda took a deep breath. “Please say something. I’ll understand if it’s not-”

“Imelda,” Hector said. “After all these years, I hoped you would have realized.”

“Realized what?” Imelda asked, her voice quiet.

“When it comes to you,” he said. “My answer is always yes.”

He pulled her close, moving his hands to her waist. She smiled, and leaned up on her toes to kiss him. It was different than she had expected, the feeling of bone against bone instead of skin, but it was him, and she hadn’t realized how much she had been wanting this until now.

When they broke the kiss, Imelda kept her arms around his neck for a moment, holding him tightly against her, afraid to let go of him in case he changed his mind.

He squeezed her tightly, and whispered into her hair, “I’m not going anywhere, Imelda. You’ve got me forever.”

* * *

Telling their family was the easiest part of it all. 

Imelda had a feeling, from their nonchalant reactions, that they had all more or less been waiting for this development since Hector had reentered their lives, just like Oscar and Felipe had said. Even Imelda had to realize that, after nothing really changed besides Hector moving into her bedroom, it had been inevitable from the start.

They all found one new thing to worry about, anyway.

“It’ll be soon,” Hector said. “She just turned one hundred, and I can feel it that she’ll be joining us sooner rather than later.”

Imelda had been ready for Coco to join her in the Land of the Dead for years. Everyone else had died around their seventies and eighties, but that time had come and gone for Coco with no sign of her fading at all. For the next two weeks after Coco’s birthday, they all waited impatiently for the call to come from the Department of Family Reunions.

Imelda was reading in the sitting room when a knock sounded at the door. Her eyes met Hector’s where he had been attempting to various stitches from Victoria. His eyes widened, and they both jumped up and hurried to the door. Hector got there first, and pulled the door open.

A woman in a blue uniform stood at the door. “I am looking for a Hector Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Julio Rivera, or Victoria Rivera.”

“Yes, yes, we’re all here,” Imelda said, somewhat impatiently. “What is your news?”

“There is a woman waiting in the Department,” she said. “Socorro Rivera, age one hundred-”

Before she finished the name, Hector had darted out into the street, Imelda close behind him. They hurried to the Department and ran down the hallways looking for the right office. 

Finally, above the small crowd of other people, she spotted white braids, tied as perfectly as they had been every day for one hundred years.

Imelda tugged Hector’s sleeve and pointed. “She’s right over there.”

They hurried toward her, and when they were within earshot, Hector cried, “Coco!”

Coco turned, and her face broke into the widest smile Imelda had ever seen. “Papa!”

Hector was running too fast for Imelda to keep up with now, and she watched as he scooped Coco up into a hug. It was an odd juxtaposition: Hector, forever twenty-one, with his never-gray hair, holding his daughter, a white-haired woman of one hundred years. Imelda watched for a moment, giving them the time they had never gotten while alive, before walking over and embracing Coco herself.

“Mama!” Coco exclaimed as she wrapped her arms tightly around Imelda. She looked over at Hector, who looked like he wanted nothing more than to hug Coco again and never let her go.

“Get over here,” Imelda said, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to hug both of them at the same time.

Imelda looked over at him over Coco’s shoulder, and he smiled softly back at her. He kissed the top of her head, leaning over Coco to do it. Imelda smiled to herself. This was her family, finally back together. She never intended to let either of them go ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this final chapter! I say final, but I don't think I'm done with Hector and Imelda just yet...
> 
> This story is set as a series, and I intend to make it one!
> 
> So far, I have a short prequel planned to follow Hector and Imelda as teenagers in 1910s Santa Cecilia. I also have a couple of oneshots of missing moments as well as another piece I'm working on that hasn't quite decided what it wants to be yet.
> 
> I'm excited to continue in this world and with these characters that I love so much.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading this monster chapter and I hope you enjoyed it!


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